#GUY FIERI inspo

[pxltown]

ANDI ❤️ i love seeing your reblogs on my dash but i wish you posted more i miss seeing your posts 😭 love u and miss u (i miss bea too)

hello anon!!!!!!!!! <3333 this is so sweet pls i miss simblr too 🥹🫶🏼 i go in and out of the game + have been playing bea’s save on my own but i end up hating everything i’m working on so it’s been v hard to get out of this rut agdjfkg

[k-atsukibakugou]

it's all in your head, i'm inside your head and you're never gonna get me out

pairing: hitoshi shinso x f!reader w/c: 2.1k warning/s: DUBCON/NONCON, brainwashing, female!reader, prohero!mindjack, just a lot of staring lmao, please lmk if i missed anything notes: based on this thirst inspo/acknowledgements: MY LOVER @definitelynotsaint FOR ALL UR HELP I WOULD BE NOTHING WITHOUT YOU MARRY ME PLEASE <3 + earworm by cottontail

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

"you seriously think you could beat him?!"

"you act like he's huge, kami, i have more chance with brainwashing than electrification. if i stay quiet, what's he going to do?"

"have you ever fought the guy?"

the argument had been going on for about… twenty minutes now, most of your other friends already filtering out of your place, but you'd trapped the blond, and subsequently shinso with your argument over the hypothetical: would you rather fight kaminari or shinso?

this was by far the most passionate you'd been so far, answering earlier versions of the question effortlessly: would you rather wear kirishima or mina's costume to a wedding (mina's), have an uncontrollable quirk with raw power or a perfected, slightly below average quirk (master of one). the moment sero proposed the final question, your eyes landed on his, your eyes glowing with smugness when they met his bored amethyst iris's, a spark of interest when you parted your lips to argue your point.

shinso remained reserved throughout your argument with the blond, studying a chip in the deep purple paint on his thumb idly, breathing slowly, evenly, apathetically despite his ears burning any time you'd say his name (his heart rate spiking every time, even with each word out of your mouth being a teasing jab of his lack of sheer power in comparison to you).

"why don't you test it sometime?" his voice is gravelly, nearly cracking after sitting in silence for so long, quietly nursing the last few mouthfuls of his drink while he peered at you; the animated way you spoke, the sparkle in your eyes every time you'd tease him, the curve of your neck when you'd toss your head back at something someone said. swallowing the final drops of the amber liquor, your attention is drawn back to him, proud smirk and all.

"what? you don't think i could fight you?"

shinso quirks an eyebrow at you, an uncontrollable, self-assured grin lazily gracing his lips, "i don't think you could keep quiet."

your mouth drops open to defend yourself, your glare growing more and more fiery as you spin to face him. he could prove it right now, brainwash you the moment the first syllable leaves your mouth, command you to remain completely still while he binds you, leave you wrapped neatly in the binding cloth to wake up in, leave you stuck while he revels in his victory. he could do it right now, annul your challenge before it could become anything, before your ego could swell even bigger.

"is that a challenge, mind jack?"

no, it's no fun to melt your wings before they're built, not until you're halfway in the air, dangling precariously over the raging sea, completely ignorant to the dangers below, complete trust in your makeshift wings.

offering you his hand, he ignores the apprehension in kaminari's golden eyes, "you wanna make it official?"

patience is a virtue, something hitoshi has to remind himself of frequently; patience, hitoshi echoing in his mind when you patrol by his side, promising to protect him from any villains, pulling him behind you if even a mouse came across your path. patience, hitoshi when you mock kaminari for fearing the muscular mans brainwashing, asking if he feared the boogeyman, too. PATIENCE, HITOSHI, it's like a mantra when you smirk up at him, your unspoken promise of beating him hanging in the air between you before you'd even part your lips to greet him.

a virtue, a true miracle he was blessed with such patience.

so, he waits, biding his time until the perfect moment, the absolute perfect time. it was spring now, weeks after your proposal, the scent of pear blossoms beginning to float through the sky. along with the sweet scent in the air, humidity made it grow thicker and thicker, as his patience grew thinner and thinner with every step closer to you.

"hitoshi!" you answer cheerfully, like you normally do, a bright smile on your curved lips, unfaltering even as your friend stares at you with burning eyes, costume awry and his dark hair mussed, pushed back from his forehead, "you look like shit."

the tension inside his body was ready to snap, a rubber band stretched far beyond what he could handle; hearing one too many jabs from you, (today, a text of your merch, a little plush of yourself that you offered, free of charge, to protect him on patrols when his brainwashing fails).

"you should see the other guy."

"oh, i'm sure you really showed him."

"you going to invite me in or just insult me?"

"aren't you going to make me? or not ready to accept the truth? i know it's hard."

he snorts, relaxing against the door frame, deciding today was the perfect day to claim his victory. to pop your ballooned ego.

"let me in," his voice is smooth, your eyes drawn to his lips at his low timbre, lips parting slightly. you feign stepping aside, dropping your head into an overly dramatic bow, only meeting his eyes again after a long moment, the smug sparkle still shining brightly in your pupils.

"huh, sorry, i don't think it worked," you stand straight once more, fixating on your limbs as if searching for a reason why his quirk hadn't worked, stretching each finger as if just to confirm your autonomy, to confirm his lack of reach, even into the weakest parts of yourself.

your wax wings spread wide, curling over shoulder blades, strapped around biceps, wrists and fingers, nothing but clear blue skies ahead of you, bright eyes zeroing in on the searing sun. you've forgotten all about the deep sea below, no concern for the waves crashing over the jagged rocks at the cliffs edge, of the current dragging helpless creatures further into the depths. what did you have to worry about the peril below when you could take to the sky? you wings will carry you far from the danger lurking in the murkiness.

"let me in."

like a baby bird, struggling to leave its nest for the first time, your wings fail you, cracking, burning, melting, sending you careening carelessly into the frigid depths below.

unlike your act, you can't feign when his voice, his quirk seeps beneath your skin, settling in your veins, in each wrinkle and valley of your brain, invading your nerves. your eyes go blank, inky pupils dilating minutely. no more burning hubris reflecting back at him, there's only the endless darkness he can watch himself in, the heat in his own eyes. the hunger. you obey (of course you do), your hand falling limply from the door frame as you finally step aside, welcoming him inside.

"aw, where'd all that talk go?" he grins, tilting his head condescendingly, arrogance oozing from him in waves as you stare at him, defenceless in his clutches, his hold the only thing keeping you from slipping into the depths, further from the sky you greedily sought. you're silent (of course you are, hitoshi hasn't commanded you to speak), a ditsy, dumb, blank look on your face as he steps over the threshold onto the genkan.

"close the door." you do, your arm falling back to your side as soon as the latch clicked.

"kneel." you do, heavy limbs bending and bowing until you were seated at his feet.

"take my boots off." you do, you make quick work of the hefty boots, shimmying them down his calves and over his ankles, his half-lidded stare trained on you, admiring your casual shorts riding higher and higher on your plush thigh when you leaned forward to place his boots at the edge of the step up into your home, the pair sat neatly, side by side.

"you're so good, so obedient," his voice is low, his tone would have you addicted, itching to hear his faux praise again and again if you could remember it. leering down at you, hitoshi is certain you'd snarl at him if you could, bear your fangs, bite and threaten him. rather, you're pacified staring up at him, doe-eyed like this he can imagine how you'd keen instead, how you'd lean into his touch when he pats your head, how your eyes would blur when he calls you pretty, dizzy and dumb nuzzling into his hand.

it was cute, laughable, he has to admit, studying your vacant stare with deep amethyst eyes, the way you really thought you could overpower his quirk, that you could win against him.

"such a good girl, aren't you? yeah?" shinso's thick gloves tangle your hair in tiny knots at the top of your head every time he pets you like a well-loved house dog, "how about you get me a drink, too?"

god, he wants to record you, to rub your nose in how well you behaved for him, blindly following every instruction and he didn't need to spend a single yen on training clickers or treats. shinso mulls over the decision for a second, just long enough for your chest to rise once more, your eyelids to drop in a blink; the expression on your lips when he would show you how pathetic you look is nothing in comparison to you rebuilding your wax wings every time you break out of his brainwashing, not remembering a thing; your attitude and teasing returning again and again, week after week when he knows exactly how pretty you look when your mind was a blank slate for him to carve any thought into.

by the time he's mulled over the decision, you've led him further into your home, back towards your the kitchen where the bet was born, where you began building the wings that would betray you.

opening the cupboard that housed the glasses, the tips of your fingers just bump the vessel with a light tink when his pink lips part to command you once more, "stop."

you pause, waiting oh so pretty for your next instruction.

"i could tell you to do anything right now, you know that?"

you stand like a marble statue, only blinking when your eyes burn.

"i could tell you to bark like a dog, and you would," you're silent, eyes staring forward even as he disrupts the air around you, tracing a gloved finger over the bare skin of the back of your thigh, just to watch the goosebumps unconsciously form in his wake, just to do it without your burning glare. "tell you to sit pretty, to shake, to roll over. would you like that, baby?"

shinso runs his bare pointer finger up your spine, tracing the nape of your neck until he buries his hand in your hair, tugging your head back and forth to nod along with him, "i knew it, you're just a pathetic, obedient little thing."

again, he manoeuvres your head to nod (he knows he can command it, but sometimes he likes getting his hands dirty).

"bend over," hitoshi tugs his gloves off, placing the pair carefully beside you on the counter, admiring the arch of your back as your tits squash against the stony counter. you were a fucking sight, something he'd never forget until the day he died; the image of you bent, dumb, drooling burnt into his retinas.

obsidian eyes follow every rise and fall of your chest, roaming over the expanse of your body, every sliver of bare skin catching his attention, taking his time to admire while you can't argue with his perversions. wide hands are drawn to your ass like a moth to the flame, the curve of your plush skin hardly covered by the fabric, even more so when he kneads the fat of your ass, squeezing and spreading anywhere he can reach.

"should i take these off? hm?" he toys with the waistband of your shorts, as if waiting for you to reach around and shove him away from you, to call him every name under the sun, to threaten his life if he even moves an inch closer, lays one more finger on your skin.

you don't.

"yeah, i bet you'd like that." shinso chuckles to himself, hooking his fingers under the elastic and tugging them easily down your hips, leaving them to pool around your ankles, left only in your shirt and the cutest cotton panties, marred by an ever-growing dark patch at the centre of your cunt.

"filthy little thing," his smile widens, a predatory stare locking onto the wet patch, tracing the shape of your pussy over your panties just to watch it widen, "you're so fucking perverted, huh? bet you've been waiting for me to try something like this."

his cock is aching in the tight constriction of his suit, he's acutely aware of how uncomfortable it would be to go home with cum staining his boxers, but he can't find it in himself to care, not when that would mean taking his eyes off of your clothed, drooling cunt.

"you wanna know something?" he hears the gentle buzz of a streetlamp igniting outside your window, hears your gentle breaths, you don't answer.

"i can't brainwash you into getting wet, baby, this is all you."

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[pedge-page]

I really love and laugh over your Joel and Preggo. I was wondering about Joel and his mother-in-law. How does Preggo get along with her mother? Maybe mother-in-law who lives out of town comes for a quick visit ? I leave to you what the dynamics or what directions “the mother-in-law” could be!

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Mother-in-Law

^some inspo photos of Pedro with friend or his family. Momma is touchy but it's nonsexual. He's just eating it up.

Warnings: angry sex turns soft, brief oral F receiving, getting caught (not sexy), favoritism war

18+ ONLY

- - - -

You remember when your parents used to hate Joel. From the moment you announced your engagement, they frowned. Why not someone who has a more stable job? Went to college? Doesn't have white in his beard already in his 30s?

But when you refused to back down, they begrudgingly put up with him. And he went above and beyond to impress them. Gifts, kind gestures, helping around their house and treating them to nice dinners. 

But oh boy, the SECOND your Facebook friends let it slip that you were expecting, your parents flipped on a dime.

Joel was now their favorite child. 

And your mom was—

“I hope she makes that famous apple pie of-hers,” Joel says, a bounce in his voice as the two of you drive to your Mom’s house for the weekend. 

Your upper lip gets caught on your teeth as you scowl at his more-than-she-deserves giddy smile. “What about my apple pie?”

“You don’t make apple pie.”

True. "Well. If I did..."

“—Then it would be the best.”

“You’re just saying that because I expect you to. You probably would hate it.”

Joel opens his mouth but hesitates for a moment. “I don’t know how you want me to respond here. We’re talking about a fictional pie you’ve never made.”

Grrr fuck this man and his logic.

He tries to alleviate the subject—maybe you wanted to give baking HIM an apple pie a go? ”She did buy me that Kitchen-aide mixer..."

You shake your head. Not this again… “No, she bought it for me!"

"It was my Christmas gift she gave me.”

"Why would she get you a NICE kitchen aide thousand dollar mixer, when you don't even BAKE??? PLUS I'm her actual DAUGHTER??"

Joel just shrugs. It pains you but you will never admit it's most likely true. Your mom bought it for HIM and you got breast pumps and a barf blanket. She used to get you the over the top nice things, and Joel would get socks. But now…

Your mom always loved you, probably a bit more than most. Sometimes it was overbearing, but that’s how she is. She’s nurturing, caring, always cooking and taking care of everyone, running a million miles a minute yet still having time to tell you everything is going to be ok after you stubbed your toe and cried about a broken nail. 

Though, she also expected to be treated like royalty by Dad. Momma knew her worth, knew her value to the family and Dad would grovel if he didn’t give her exactly what she wanted the moment she wanted it.

You’re glad that Joel doesn’t have to deal with a nagging wife who needs to tend to her ridiculous wants and emotional turmoil whenever it falls over less he be beheaded for his insolence.

You narrow your eyes at your bopping himbo Joel now, completely unaware of your thoughts as he jams to the radio. 

What a lucky guy he is.

When you pull up outside the old ranch home, Joel hops out and smells the air like it’s the Bahamas.

He helps you down from the passenger side of the truck before you both jump at the sound of your Mom screeching from the porch.

“JOOOOOEEEELLLYYYYYYYY!!!!!!”

His eyes crinkle in a warm smile as the little yet fiery woman you call Mom comes rushing towards you two like a marathon speed walker, pumping her arms at a whopping 1 mile per hour.

He opens his arms and as your mother wraps herself in his embrace. “Hey you!”

“Oooooh! Ohhh you’re so thin!” 

You raise your eyebrow. Joel’s no heavy weight champion, but he’s got a dad bod ready to rival any of the neighbors—a body that you LOVE more than anything else as it is.

Finally seeing you behind him, she shoves Joel aside and wraps you up in his warm hug. “MY BABYGIRL!!!!”

That’s right, let’s remember the pregnant one here please!

Your mom is the same height as you, but that doesn’t stop her from getting on her tip toes to kiss your forehead like she always did since the day you were born. She marvels at the size of your belly, filled with excitement and wonder and familiarity. “Oh my gosh look how much you’ve grown already, are you sure it’s not twins??? I have twins on my uncle’s side so its entirely possible—oh my gosh you’re so—“

Please don’t say fat please don’t say fat…

“SKINNY! JOEL! Have you not been feeding her????”

You snicker and throw your arm around her shoulders. “That’s what I’VE been saying. Momma, he’s been limiting snack time.”

Joel rolls his eyes. The two of you ganging up on him wasn’t in the cards just 5 seconds ago when he was sweet Joely.

 “My poor starving baby starving my baby’s baby!” she muses, forces Joel to bend at the knee for her fat wet kiss on his scruffy cheek before rubbing her kisses into your head on the other side.

“Come, come in! I’ve made—“

“Pie?” Joel pipes up, his eyes tilted eagerly towards the overly touchy woman suffocating you both.

You roll your eyes, already smelling the apple and cinnamon in the air. Of COURSE she would make his favorite pie. She runs inside to set the table.

Joel starts unpacking the truck but you cross your arms and tap your foot.

“What?”

He towers over you with a duffel slumped over his shoulder. “—Not that shit."

“I'm just saying, she’s nice to you all the sudden. It’s weird—“

“Don’t start.” He interrupts, slamming the trunk with a startling bang. Those biceps look fucking delicious rippling under his tight tight shirt— "Just want her to think I'm good for ya. Not tryin' to replace you."

You scoff him, as if anyone else could pull a man like that except you. 

But Joel can still feel that tension radiating off you, knowing you won’t truly acknowledge what’s bothering you until it blows into something ridiculous.

“Jooeellyyyy?” your mother shouts from the kitchen window.

“JoElLeY” you mimic with annoyance. “I used to be the only one with cute nicknames, ya know. You used to just be ‘J guy-my-daughter-is-dating’. And that even AFTER we got married.”

He chuckles before giving you a peck on the lips and guiding your waddling self inside. Joel doesn’t want you thinking that he would ever choose your mom over you, of course not! 

Just, for the now, being on her favorable side was something he had been working towards for years. You would just have to put up with her lipstick stains on his cheek and endless praise from his mouth of her fabulous cooking for this the weekend.

- 

Your mom zips around the kitchen, going off about the new nail salon down the road, the garden beds that can’t keep the chipmunks away, and how your old ultrasounds to compare baby sizes.

Joel watches the way she waddles. It’s EXACTLY as you do, and he starts to think maybe it’s not the pregnancy that is giving you such a signature walk. You both sit down at the table together and sigh, biting into a cookie and making a nasty face before putting it back on the tray.

Oh.

Oh wow.

Joel has to hide his smirk. You claimed so often how you were NOTHING like your mom. Your mom was pushy, demanding, filled to the brim with extra energy that would come out of no where—ironically all the things that defined you but obviously was not obvious to his wife yet. 

Maybe it’s the slight difference between you two is exactly how Joel can relate to Momma—showing love through acts service. Your mom is constantly working around the kitchen, cleaning, cooking, and it has nothing to do with expectations. He can see the little smile on her face, the skip in her step—she loves taking care of her people. She likes that you whine because only she can make your favorite coffee cake the exact way you like it. That you credit your own excellent laundry folding skills thanks to her methods that prevent wrinkles without ironing. How she always had the BEST soups for when you’re sick as if they cured like medicine itself, even if its just poured from a can—its done so with love.

There’s a unique bond between mother and daughter that Joel gets to witness. It’s not self serving either. There’s a sense of personal gratitude in being able to care for someone that makes their world worth living in.

Other times you can be a total bitch but honestly? That’s just pregnancy talk.

“It’s a girl, isn’t it? Grandmother’s just know these things—“

“Mom, I called you a few weeks ago and told you it was a girl. You didn’t just guess—“

“Just as you had predicted!” Joel jumps in. “Grandmother’s intuition is a real thing, and this sweet }Cookie’s got it.” He winks towards her and sips the lovely tea she had made him.

Your mom begins to favor his conversation over yours. “And names…?” She asks expectedly.

“We’re—“

“Yours is definitely in the mix!” Joel boasts.

She clasps her hands together, not seeing the deathstare you were giving him. Momma’s name was only in the mix for MIDDLE names, not firsts. You both had agreed you wanted your baby to have her own unique first that belonged to just her. 

He ignores you for now, hoping you can see the ‘please forgive me’, in his pupils as your mom goes to hug and kiss his messy hair like a bird feeding its young in the nest.

You clear your throat, eager to get her hands off your man and back on to the one actually giving her the grandbaby. “I think it’s time we settle down in our room. Right Momma?”

“Oh, you know your way up, I wanted to show Joel some of my new kitchenware—I just couldn’t decide what to buy so I got everything, knowing you’d be by this weekend! Come on, you can pick the ones you like.”

She grasps his hand and guides him, side to side with her piddled feet, into the next room and leaving you alone.

-

The blunt edges of your chewed up nails dig into Joel’s meaty chest. there are wrinkles in your forehead from how tightly concentrated you are at riding back and forth on his cock, your belly dragging along his and hips slamming down aggressively as you ride him with the pent up fury of the day.

Joel’s got a mix of emotions: your tight pussy sucking him in, kissing your cervix with each swallow, deep and delicious in that tight heat, plus the sheer feel and sight of you so pregnant yet fucking him so furiously while he lies back and takes it all in, trying not to cum too soon—but also knowing you’re more angry than you are thinking about the sex you’re having, and you’re going to injure yourself by all this energy not driving you anywhere closer to an orgasm, and he knows  he has to works out the knot in your brain before you can let the knot in your tummy snap.

“Why are you so upset?” He asks as his head rubs up along the pillow from each bounce of your body atop him.

“M—m not—upset,” you stammer, your fingers gripping his flesh even harder and slamming yourself down on his cock like you want to hurt it.

You’re sweating, visibly aggravated and probably in pain but refuse to quit.

Maybe you need this, but as he glances down at your bulging pregnant belly that is also being shaken up like a martini, he decides that his unborn baby doesn’t need brain damage too from your furious fucking.

Joel’s hands glide up along your flexed arms until he’s cupping your cheeks gently, wiping the tear that is building along your eyelashes. You slow your pace until you’re just sitting on top, impaled on his cock and letting out an exhausted huff.

“So why are you upset?” He asks calmly.

“You’re MY husband,” you say, and though your voice is full of confidence at the statement, it quivers just a bit at the end. 

Joel knew you would be pent up. That your mom was too touchy with him, and in his good faith to keep her good favor, he leaned in and let her butter him up, gave her the attention and kisses and hugs she asked for, and now its getting to you, and you’re jealous of your own mother—

“--and I’m HER daughter. But now she’s acting like you’re her favorite child too, even though I’m the one giving the grandbaby here, I used to be her favorite kid! Just me! I used to be the one BEGGGING her to give ya a chance but now suddenly she’s also loving you, out of the fucking BLUE,  like you’re all special when IT SHOULD JUST BE ME—.”

He blinks for a second, and you squeeze your walls around him as if signaling you’ll cut it off if he dare try to act confused. 

“Wait, are you jealous… of me?” 

Your eyes drift away, just in time for Joel to have the worst fucking reaction by chuckling so hard that the two of you are rolling over to your side.

He wipes his reddened face and calms his breathing so he can talk.

“That why you’re fuckin’ me like you wanna break me?” 

Maybe you did want to make a point to anyone who might be in the house about the hierarchy over who’s got right’s to loving Joel…specifically, to make that clear TO Joel himself. 

He scootches as close as he can, despite the big baby between your middles, and rubs his nose along yours, his palm brushing your cheek and centering your focus entirely on him.

“I’d shoot myself if I had to spend more than just this weekend with your mom. She’s nice, but I couldn’t EVER stand around bein’ pinched in the cheeks like that. Always doting on my ass all day, tryin’ to service me and make me feel like a spoiled porcelain doll that needed nurturin’ like a baby 24/7. I’d feel like a useless fuck. I think she n’ I are kinda alike in that. Wantin’ to take care of what’s ours.”

You snort in the boogers pooling in your nostrils. 

“Look, It’s nice gettin’ praise, THAT you could give me more of.”

“I don’t wanna talk about my mom when you’re inside me.”

“Then lets talk about you being a momma while I’m inside you.”

“Yeah… but I liked being the only one she adored. Now I gotta share?? With you????”

You nod shyly but agree. “I do appreciate you. I’ll try better to show it.”

“Nah, don’t want you to change. N’ I need you to listen to this because I know you’re gonna leave some details out intentionally when you go tattlin’ to Maria—but being pregnant with you has been the best adventure we’ve been on so far. You keep me on my toes and keep life interesting. I like the smile on your face when I give ya something only I can give. The dance you do when you get your little cookie dough milkshake thing, and the pout you make when I tell ya no, and you get all cute on me and do some ridiculous shit that I can’t deny you anymore cuz fuck, I want you happy sooo bad, and I wanna be the one that does it. YOU make me feel special.”

He smiles, stroking the hair away from your eyes. “Think of it this way: when did she suddenly start showin’ me some special treatment? When I put a baby in your belly. That’s it. She’s happy to be getting a grand kid, and she knows I’m officially stuck with you so might as well get used to it. I’m here to stay. “Ya spent so long tryin’ to get her to like me. She does now. Job well done! You don’t have to stress anymore. No need to get all greedy, baby though I know that’s just your thing,” he teases, rubbing his knee along your thighs to part them again.

You furl your lower lip out in a childish pout. “I think the baby is making me possessive over my belongings.”

“Oh? I’m a belonging now?” He wiggles his eyes brows. Slightly more relaxed, he takes advantage and smoothes his palm down your arm, behind your waist to squeeze your ass.

He’s about to pull you in for a victory kiss when your eyes shoot open.

“Wait… am I… the useless spoiled porcelain doll that needs nurturing 24/7 that you have to dote on all day??????”

“No! No you’re not useless!”

He’s offering a sweet smile, rubbing your shoulder with encouragement as a pregnant pause fills the air.

“…you got anything else you wanna deny in that or just that one part.”

He licks his lips before flipping you on your back and sliding down between your legs.

“You know what the BEST pie is?”

T h e o n e  b e t w e e n  m y l  e g s, you mouth out into the air, your belly conveniently keeping your lips out of frame as Joel spread your pussy and blows cool air on your nub.

“S’the one between your legs,” he whispers sensually against your thigh, nipping it and growling before dragging the tip of his nose through your slit, inhaling your scent.

You smile and cover your face with both hands. He’s cheesy, but he’s a keeper. 

and maybe, just maybe, worth sharing the love with.

The love that is quickly about to be snuffed out for the both of you as your mom opens the door and begins asking "Joel did you want the red one or the blue--AH!"

Joel and you both frantically cover your lower half, his head accidetanlly bumping into your belly at the same you to strain your back trying to sit up.

"MOM, SERIOUSLY!?"

she slams the door closed but calls out through the wood: "Oh that is NOT appropriate for the baby!" before stammering away.

Joel just chuckles into your breasts. "How does she think I got the baby in you?"

You shake your head and smack him, trying to feel more ashamed then amused right now.

- - - -

More Momma in Law and Sarah

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-dinero @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee

[artyandink]

the art of heresy forged 2022

SUMMARY: Modern day, 2022, and you have no clue what’s going on. You knew what you went through. You knew it was real, but why were there people trying to convince you that everything that happened to you wasn’t real. Hell, you called bullshit. But you get your chance to fight back when you get a call at your door.

TW: psychological torture, trauma, angst, smut, drinking, consumption of drugs, smoking, mentions of sex, blood, murder, gore, Ben (cause he’s an individual warning), derogatory remarks, gunfire, murder, killing, lots of it, it’s The Boys so be careful guys, really creepy shit, crack, literal crack

STW: fingering, Ben being Ben, degradation, explicit spoken detail, practically manhandling

A/N - divider by @chachachannah

Song Inspo: Look What You Made Me Do by Taylor Swift

keep it quiet

NICARAGUA, 1983:

The sun hung low in the Nicaraguan sky, casting long shadows over the dense jungle. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to every leaf, every blade of grass, and every breath the small town's inhabitants took. A deep, unsettling quiet had settled over the place, punctuated only by the occasional call of distant birds or the rustle of leaves. The tranquility of the town was deceptive, however, masking the turmoil that had gripped the world beyond its borders.

In the heart of the town, a small news station buzzed with a rare energy. Reporters shuffled about, their voices tense, their faces drawn with concern. The camera lights were harsh against the evening gloom, casting sharp shadows on the walls of the makeshift studio. Outside, a handful of locals gathered, their curiosity piqued by the unusual activity. News had traveled fast, as it always did in small towns, and the disappearance of Soldier Boy was no exception. For the people of this remote corner of the world, the arrival of a famous superhero—however dire the circumstances—was an event worth witnessing.

Inside the studio, the main anchor, a seasoned reporter named Esteban Garcia, sat behind a worn wooden desk, straightening the stack of notes before him. His dark eyes were set with a determination that had been honed over years of covering stories that often blurred the lines between the ordinary and the extraordinary. But today, the story was unlike any other he had ever covered.

Esteban had been one of the first to receive the report that Soldier Boy, the legendary superhero and symbol of American might, had gone missing during a covert operation in Nicaragua. The details were still murky, shrouded in a haze of classified information and official denials. What was clear, however, was that the man who had once been invincible, the man who had been the living embodiment of strength and bravery, was now feared dead.

As Esteban shuffled his notes one last time, the door to the studio creaked open, and in walked a woman who seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. Crimson Countess was a striking figure; her red hair, usually fiery and untamed, was pulled back into a tight bun. Her crimson suit, once a beacon of power and confidence, seemed to have lost its luster, the fabric dull and wrinkled as if it, too, had been drained of life.

She moved with a heaviness that Esteban hadn't seen before, her every step measured, her every breath labored. As she approached the interview chair, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hands trembled ever so slightly. This was not the Crimson Countess the world had come to know—the fierce, unyielding force that had fought alongside Soldier Boy for years. This was a woman on the brink, teetering between despair and the desperate need to hold herself together.

"Thank you for coming, Countess," Esteban said, his voice gentle but firm. He gestured to the chair opposite him, and she lowered herself into it, her movements slow and deliberate. "I know this must be an incredibly difficult time for you."

Countess nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she seemed unable to speak, her throat working to push down the grief that threatened to spill over. When she finally did find her voice, it was hoarse, raw with emotion.

"Difficult doesn’t even begin to cover it," she murmured, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance, far beyond the walls of the studio. "I’ve… I’ve been through a lot with Soldier Boy. We all have. But this… this is different."

Esteban nodded, giving her the space she needed to gather her thoughts. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, with the weight of shared history and the looming specter of loss. Outside, the gathering crowd pressed closer to the windows, straining to catch even the faintest whisper of what was being said inside.

"He was… he is," she corrected herself quickly, as if to banish the thought of his death from existence, "the strongest person I’ve ever known. Indestructible, or so we all thought. To think that he could be… gone… it’s like waking up in a nightmare you can’t escape from."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she closed her eyes tightly, as if that could somehow block out the pain. Esteban felt a pang of sympathy. He had seen many interviews like this before—family members of the missing, the grieving, the lost. But this was different. This was Crimson Countess, a superhero, someone who was supposed to be beyond the reach of such ordinary, human emotions. And yet here she was, broken in a way that no enemy had ever managed to break her.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Esteban asked softly, careful not to push too hard, but knowing that the world was desperate for answers. "Anything at all that you know?"

Countess opened her eyes and looked at him. For a moment, she seemed to be weighing her words, deciding how much to reveal, how much to hold back. Then, with a deep breath, she began to speak.

"It was supposed to be a routine mission," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "We’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times before—go in, neutralize the threat, get out. But something went wrong. I… I wasn’t there when it happened, I was in a different part of the field, but I spoke to him on the comms. He was… he was confident, as always. He didn’t think anything could go wrong."

She paused, swallowing hard, as if the memory of that last conversation was too much to bear. "But then we lost contact. Just like that. One minute, everything was fine, and the next… nothing. No signal, no word. Just… silence."

Esteban leaned forward, his brow furrowing in concern. "And you haven’t heard anything since? No communication from Soldier Boy or anyone else on the mission?"

Countess shook her head, her expression one of helplessness, an emotion she was clearly unaccustomed to. "Nothing. It’s like they vanished into thin air. The government’s been tight-lipped, as always. They’re saying it’s classified, that they’re ‘looking into it,’ but I know what that means. They think he’s dead. They just don’t want to say it."

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Esteban could feel the tension in the room rising, the weight of the world’s expectations pressing down on this woman who had spent her life fighting battles that most people couldn’t even imagine. And now she was fighting a battle of a different kind—one that she had no idea how to win.

"What does this mean for you, Countess?" he asked after a long moment, his voice soft with understanding. "For the team? For the world?"

Countess looked at him, her eyes filled with a deep, abiding sorrow. "I don’t know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I really don’t know. Soldier Boy was… he was the heart of the team. The backbone. Without him… I don’t know how we go on."

The room fell silent again, the weight of her words sinking in. Outside, the crowd had grown larger, their faces pressed against the glass, their eyes wide with fear and fascination. They had come to see a superhero, but what they were witnessing was something far more profound—a woman laid bare, stripped of the armor that had always protected her, struggling to make sense of a world that no longer made sense.

Esteban knew that he had to tread carefully now. He could see how close she was to the edge, how fragile her composure had become. But he also knew that the world was watching, waiting for answers, for some kind of closure. He took a deep breath, choosing his next words with care.

"Countess," he began gently, "the world has always looked to people like you and Soldier Boy for strength, for hope. In times of crisis, you’ve been the ones to lead us, to show us that even the darkest times can be overcome. What would you say to those who are watching right now? To those who are afraid?"

Countess stared at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if looking for something—perhaps a lifeline, perhaps an escape. When she spoke, her voice was stronger, more certain, as if she had found some small reserve of the strength that had always defined her.

"I’d say that fear is a natural response to the unknown," she said slowly, the words coming out measured and deliberate. "But fear can’t be the end of the story. Soldier Boy… he wouldn’t want us to give up, to let fear consume us. He’d want us to fight, to keep going, no matter how hopeless it seems."

Her voice grew steadier as she spoke, the words seemingly giving her strength. "I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know if Soldier Boy is… if he’s really gone. But I do know that he wouldn’t want us to stop fighting. He’d want us to keep pushing forward, to keep believing that there’s a way out of this, even if we can’t see it right now."

Esteban nodded, feeling a sense of respect for this woman who, despite everything, was still finding a way to inspire hope. "Thank you, Countess," he said quietly. "I know that wasn’t easy."

Countess managed a small, tight smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Nothing about this is easy," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it’s what we have to do."

As the interview drew to a close, Esteban could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her body seemed to sag with the weight of it all. He knew that the moment the cameras stopped rolling, she would retreat back into the private hell she was living, the grief and uncertainty gnawing away at her resolve.

"Do you think he could still be out there?" Esteban asked, unable to resist the question that had been on his mind since the beginning of the interview. "Do you think Soldier Boy could still be alive?"

Countess looked at him, her eyes filled with a quiet desperation. "I have to believe he is," she said softly, the words laced with a fragile hope. "Because if he’s not… I don’t know how we move on from this."

The camera panned out, capturing the room in its entirety—the small, stark studio, the gathering crowd outside, and the lone figure of Crimson Countess, sitting in the harsh light, her face a mask of controlled despair. The broadcast would soon be over, but the impact of her words would linger long after the screen went dark.

NOW:

“Whatever you’re experiencing, it’s not real.” Your shrink - you still didn’t know whether her name was Emily or Earhart - assured you, but you knew better. “Vought only wants to help you get better.”

“They’ve been so called helping me for forty fucking years.” You gritted out, your fingers gripping the chair you were sitting on. The maroon chair, with some fugly beige cushions in this fugly beige room. You hated it.

Fuck all.

She sighed, leaning forward. “You exhibit signs of anger issues and PTSD. Vought is merely facilitating your recovery and return to glory.”

“They’re fucking with my head!” You burst out, standing up abruptly, surging forward and grabbing her throat, your eyes turning black, gleaming with wisps of purple. “Tell me the truth.”

Tell me the truth. It resonated through Eleanor’s head, and her eyes turned the same colour as yours, her jaw going slack as she stopped resisting.

“You’re not crazy.” She whispered, her eyes wide and unfocused. “You never were.”

You let her go, and her eyes returned back to normal, a shaky gasp escaping her lips. You bent forward, trapping her between yourself and the chair.

“You tell anyone what I just did, sweetie,” You warned lowly, “and I’ll snap your neck by the time I next come in here.”

“Of course.” She whispered, her voice cracking.

You sat back down on the armchair, cracking a smile as you examined the fear in her eyes. Good. “Shall we continue?”

They’d gotten into some weird shit.

“Is he always gonna be doing that?” Hughie whispered to Butcher, watching Ben crush some medicine and snort it like it was nothing. They’d broken him out of his cryogenic capsule, and it’s safe to say that he was an incredibly pissed off individual. Understandably so.

“Just let ‘im, it ain’t killing us.” Butcher replied under his breath, and then snapped into suave gent action when Ben cleared his throat and looked up. “Everythin’ alright, there, guv’nor?”

“Gotta add another name to my kill list.” He cleared his throat again, grunting distastefully.

“One more?” Hughie asked, eyes widening slightly, but he recovered. “Uh, w-who is that - the one you want to kill - who?”

Ben grunted again, snorting up more crushed pills. “Tricky bitch, she is. Superhero by the name of Psyke, she was my co-leader and fuck buddy. Real tricky to get past. She can create illusions that you’ll fall for if you’re a dumb piece’a shit, and if she gets her hands on you, game over.”

Butcher crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“One, she’s hot as fuck. And a great fuck.” Ben chuckled, reminiscing the days. “Second, she’ll just whisper a command and you’ll do it no questions asked.”

“No problem, guv.” Butcher smirked confidently, but Hughie raised his hand. “Put your hand the fuck down, we ain’t in school.”

“Cocksucker.” Ben snorted - not recreational drugs this time - drinking his beer. “What is it?”

“Psyke, she… she’s impossible to get to.” Hughie revealed, scrolling on his phone. “Apparently she had a psychotic outbreak after you were put in the freezer in ‘83. Vought’s holding her for rehabilitation and therapy. Has been for forty years.

Ben saw the picture of the old newspaper, the title blaring in his face. ‘Psyke in Rehab for Violent Behaviour’, but no explanation. It told him one thing— that you must have known something was wrong.

And Vought imprisoned you for it, the bastards.

There wasn’t a world in which Vought would imprison their darling, their golden girl. Not unless she went rogue.

“That means she’s deep in a Vought facility.” Butcher smirked, glancing between the two others. “We get the team together, launch an attack on the cunts holdin’ her, we can get her out quick an’ easy.”

Ben’s protective instincts over you flared up when he thought of what Vought could’ve done to you. “She gets out unharmed, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, guv. Not a scratch.”

Oh, fuck. You could go for one of those at the moment.

You were left on the ground, on your back, trembling. Your brain felt like it’d been stretched and then left to rebound against all four walls of your brain, close to turning into mush had you not been fighting the drug injected into your system with everything you had.

“She’s resisting.” You heard one doctor mutter to another, just as searing, white hot pain made the corners of your vision turn black.

And then they shaped into the nightmare land, taking over your vision until it was half reality half illusion, messing with your perception until you weren’t sure which was actually happening.

You could see Nicaragua.

The blood, being distracted by a legion only to find Ben being subdued by Novichok.

Fighting off every member of Payback, making them turn on one another with nothing but a hand on their shoulder and a persuasive whisper.

Getting hit with a cheap shot from behind, and both yours and Ben’s bodies were dragged across the dirt.

Only difference was that you were barely awake. Awake enough to see his unconscious face as they took him away and put him God knows where.

“Have we tried giving her a stronger dose?” A male doctor replied, the corners of your vision blinking from reality, back to nightmare, reality, nightmare, reality- nightmare—

Keys jangled. “We give her a stronger dose and she’ll go up in a stroke. Homelander wants her alive.”

“I don’t understand why, she’s a walking weapon.”

“Talking like I’m not there.” You rasped out, like you hadn’t spoken in a hundred years. A rough chuckle left your mouth as you shakily pushed yourself up, the pounding in your head still there but finding it easier to regain muscle control. “Ballsy move, especially for a couple of dickless scientists.”

You pointed at the lady. “You’re already dickless, so you don’t count.”

The two doctors looked between each other, getting more and more anxious as you found your feet, staggering towards them, almost shuffling, footsteps uneven.

“Uh, what are you-” They froze when you clapped your hands on their shoulders, leaning forward so you were speaking in their ears, your iris turning into gleaming purple mixed with black.

“Kill each other.” You whispered, and the command resonated. The urge to pick up their pens and go postal overtaking them.

Kill each other.

Kill each other.

It went through their mind, body, soul. Clipboards flattering to the floor as their irises turned black and swirled with purple, turning to each other slowly. Teeth gritting, veins popping as the two doctors looked into each other’s eyes with pure hatred and a chuckle left your lips as you watched them click their pens and go straight for the jugular.

Over and over again.

“Sleep tight, bitches.” You muttered in satisfaction just as armed Vought soldiers burst in, two forcing you to your knees while two others went to check the tangled, lifeless bodies of the two doctors running rampant.

And you did that.

It felt amazing.

1980:

Mmh, fuck.

“Bet you’re so wet for me, pretty thing.” Ben chuckled against your lips as you stumbled back into the his hotel room, the rapid undoing of clothes not privy to the two of you as the curtains were wide open. Everyone in the street below could see the filthy way yours and Ben’s lips joined together over and over again, eyes closed but hands familiar with where they needed to go to make the other moan.

Ben separated from you to go and close the curtains, leaving the taste of whiskey on your tongue, still in his slacks from the press conference while he’d ridden you of everything but that delicious fucking lace you’d worn under your dress.

He’d been eyeing you all day in that thing, and all he thought about was having it off.

“Didn’t have enough after coming like a faucet on my cock this morning, hm?” He added, toeing his shoes off and working on his belt, his lips descending to your neck and leaving hot trails of kisses and rough sucks. “Nah, you didn’t.”

Your hands slid up his chest, and then one went down to palm him over his slacks, which had the vein in his neck popping, jaw tensing as his head fell back for a quick second.

Then he took control of the situation, tearing your panties off and throwing you onto the bed, the bra going with it as he sank two thick fingers knuckle deep in your pussy.

“Shit-” You gasped, arching off the bed, your legs widening instinctively as he set a brutally delicious pace, leaning forward to lick and suck at your nipple, biting and tugging at it with his teeth at his fancy.

Ben only laughed, manoeuvring your body how he wanted, rocking your hips in time with his fingers, hearing your moans, seeing your eyes roll back, knowing you were close-

NOW:

“TMI.” Hughie groaned, putting his hand out and shaking his head. “Really, dude. Ew.”

Ben frowned. “TMI- the fuck does that mean?” He thought for a second, then waved Hughie off. “Eh, I don’t give two shits.” Then he chuckled at the memory, nodding and hitching his shield higher on his arm. “Psyke, man. Best fuck you could ask for. She’d ride me like a damn champ, knows how to suck you off too. Had a mouth like a goddamn vacuum-”

“As much as I want to hear about your old buddy’s jerkin’ off talents, guv,” Butcher cut in with a wave of his hands as they walked, “we have half an hour to get in an’ out.”

“We’ll get her.” Ben assured, finding a Vought guard and slamming his shield into their face, successfully breaking their nose and making them drop, crumpling like a wet sheet of paper.

“Fuck you.” He added, sneering at the unconscious guard before trudging further through the halls, Hughie and Butcher keeping up right as the alarms blared red.

The moment they did, you - in your cell - smirked, finding an opportunity. The guards were about to restrain you, but you used their grip on your arms to knock them into each other, rolling out of the way and grabbing their handgun, shooting them both once each in the head before anyone could react.

You barely dodged a bullet (literally), jumping and spinning, whipping your leg around so your heel could connect with the side of one’s head, snapping it sideways and sweeping another guard’s legs out from under them, grabbing their head and snapping their neck.

All the guards were down, so you got up, looking at the massacre - the art - you’d created with a small smile on your face and an approving nod.

“Cocksuckers.” You muttered under your breath before shaking your head, clearing the corners of your vision of Nicaragua, induced by whatever shit they put into your system. Wasn’t the good shit either, it was bad shit.

You really needed a smoke round about now.

But now wasn’t the time, so you picked up the guard’s assault rifle and pocketed a few rounds, making your way through the clinically white halls with it held up, popping a few rounds through the heads of the guards you met.

Eventually, of course, all your rounds were depleted soon enough, and you resorted to using your hands (and not in the sexy way), Nicaragua threatening to take over your vision

“You can check that way, guv, she might be there.” A voice with an accent said gruffly, and when you looked around the corner, you saw a boot disappearing down a side corridor, and two other guys. You stepped up behind the smaller one, your bare feet silent on the cold floor.

With a sharp movement, you grabbed the smaller one’s shoulders, yanking him against you as your powers activated again, ready to strike. “Move a muscle and I tell this one to dislocate his own shoulder. Maybe break a leg.”

“What the fuck- I don’t wanna break a leg!” The dude held to you squeaked to the taller guy, who turned around, taking one look at you and smirking.

“Guv, we found ‘er!” He yelled, and a large red and brown boot stepped out, connected to a much larger body that you knew all too well. Only difference was that his hair was darker and he had a trimmed beard. Oh, you’d have fun with that - you mused, right as a grin spread on your face.

“Son of a bitch.”

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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[formulawolff]

just how things come together, they fall apart - d.r.

pairing: female driver!reader x red bull!daniel ricciardo

word count: 2.5k

warnings: cursing, angst, unresolved romantic and sexual tension, a falling out of a friendship, some banter, the other drivers being little shits (especially kimi), allusions to smut, light alcohol use, "it was always you" trope, yadayadayada

a/n: this is my first time for our ol' boy danny ric! i hope i did a good job with this one! <3 i always love writing angst!

song inspo: friends by chase atlantic

"so this is it?"

"i mean," he won't even look at you, his eyes fixated on the floor, his head dipped low, "i guess so."

your lower lip trembles, fiery, frustrated tears welling up in your eyes, "i don't even know what the fuck i did wrong. i haven't done shit to you and here you are, kicking my ass to the curb."

"oh come on," he groans, bringing a hand to his temple, "you can't even be that upset with me. it's nothing personal. i just need to distance myself from you for a while. maybe forever. i don't know. i just know that i need to do this."

"i would be okay with it if i did something to make you upset with me or hate me," you wipe a tear, careful to not let him see you like this, "but i thought we were good. i guess not."

daniel grimaces, "like i said, it's nothing personal or against you. i think it's best if we're no longer friends."

"right," you nod, sucking in a sharp breath, "got it."

"i'm sorry-" he begins, but you stick up a hand, swiftly interrupting.

"don't even start with that bullshit. don't act like you're sorry just because you feel guilty."

"fine," he exhales, throwing his hands up in the air, "fine! i won't be sorry."

"see you around," you mutter, shaking your head, the tears streaming now, caking your heated cheeks.

storming out of the garage, you keep your head low, the other drivers mingling about, their voices hushed. yet, as they notice you, their attention shifts. sebastian makes his way towards you, concern plastered across his features.

"hey!" he calls, "what the fuck just happened?"

"ask daniel about it," your voice is shaky, "just fucking ask daniel about it."

"hey," arms envelop your frame, bringing you in close, "you can talk about it if you want."

"trouble in paradise?" a voice rumbles.

kimi.

"kimi," sebastian hisses, placing kisses along the crown of your head, "did you guys just fight?"

well, it more than just a little spat.

merely minutes ago, daniel announced that he was no longer interested in a friendship with you. a friendship that had blossomed and developed over the course of two years was gone in an instant, with no explanation why.

your heart felt like it was being torn into shreds, your breathing labored as you sobbed into sebastian's chest, the driver rubbing your back, his chin resting on top of your head.

"did something happen?" another voice cuts in, crisp with that oh so familiar accent.

lewis.

"i think they got into a pretty heated argument," sebastian murmurs, "he's kind of a piece of shit for doing that right before a race."

"what a dickhead," lewis whistles, "do you know what it was about?"

"no idea," sebastian shrugs, still clinging onto you, "she hasn't said much since she left the garage. just told me to ask daniel about it."

"hey," lewis places a tender hand on your shoulder, "you don't need that loser anyway. you have us. we'll be your besties."

"now is not the time," you grumble, "can we just get this fucking race over with?"

"only if you dust his ass," lewis pries you away from sebastian, wrapping you up in his own embrace. he squeezes you gently, "if you manage to get on the podium, will you please fill us in after?"

"so nosy," a giggle manages to bubble up in your throat, "nosy, nosy, lewis. always wanting the gossip."

"you know me," a chuckle vibrates in his chest, "i do love a good gossip session."

thank god for sebastian and lewis. and well, kimi was there too.

as one of the few female drivers in formula one, you were thrust into the oh so competitive world of racing around the 2016 season, right at the time max verstappen started his career. although it was your lifelong dream to drive for red bull, you were offered a seat at mclaren due to jenson button's announcement that he was retiring.

since it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, you decided to take it, accepting the contract offer.

not many women competed in formula one, and you were determined to make the world know your name.

that burning desire to win and your outspoken nature is what initially drew daniel ricciardo in, the red bull driver approaching you one night after qualifying in sochi. he struck up a simple conversation, complimenting your lap and your ability to navigate the track despite some unfavorable weather conditions.

from that moment, the two of you were inseparable, attached at the hip. if you weren't in the red bull paddock between races, he was at mclaren, the team principals grumbling to one another at your tight-knit friendship.

there were tons of sleepless nights where the two of you would lie awake, bodies snuggled together, rambling about everything and anything that came to mind. after the first grand prix where you scored points in 2016, daniel was right there after the race, hugging onto you so tightly, lifting you up in the air and spinning you around.

there were plenty of hungover mornings where he would hold your hair for you as you threw up in the toilet, rubbing your back, encouraging you to let it all out. there were nights where he would need your affection, begging you to come over to his motorhome so that he could fall asleep on your chest, your hand tangled in his curly locks as he dozed off.

sure, there were moments in which it was a little more than just a friendship.

there was the unforgettable night in azerbaijan, where daniel won. that night, you found yourself completely intertwined with the australian driver, skin on skin, his mouth roaming every inch of your body.

that was the first night daniel told you he loved you.

and there was something more than just a platonic sort of love in those words.

something along the lines of romantic love.

the kind where his presence sent your heart fluttering, bliss rippling in your chest the moment he flashed you that beautiful smile, dimples and all.

the kind of love where the moment his eyes met yours, you found yourself spiraling, completely and utterly speechless at the sight of his gorgeous mocha-hued gaze.

the kind of love where his touch sent a shiver down your spine, every movement electric.

there was no denying the feelings you harbored for the red bull driver.

you were in love with him.

completely and hopelessly in love.

and there was no going back, not since that night in azerbaijan.

you were in deep. probably way too deep for a friendship.

there was that minuscule hope that you clung onto nearly every second of every day. the inkling that maybe, just maybe daniel felt the same way.

after all, he had told you he loved you.

more than once.

surely that meant something, right?

the chemistry between the two of you was undeniable, often clouding over like an intense fog. the other drivers on the grid noticed it. your team principals were aware of it. fuck, even the media speculated the two of you were involved romantically, that you had more than just a friendly "buddy-buddy" relationship.

friends didn't fuck, right?

friends didn't snuggle together every night, drifting off together, right?

friends didn't share longing glances in the paddocks, right?

"hmmph," kimi's lip curls in disgust, "look over at the red bull garage."

your head swivels to your right, the blood roaring in your ears as you spot what kimi was referring to.

out of the garage comes daniel, greeting a slim, lithe blonde. he pulls her in for a lengthy embrace, peppering her face with chaste kisses. your palms calm up, your heart thumping against your rib-cage.

daniel's attention hones in on the four of you, the aussie waving a hand over.

"hey guys! come meet my girlfriend, anastasia!"

"you. have. got. to. be. shitting. me," sebastian's eyes widen, his lips parted.

"yeah," lewis runs his tongue along his teeth, placing his hands on his hips, "i'm not participating in any of that fuckery."

yet, you're silent, the tears threatening to spill over once again, your hands trembling.

how the fuck were you expected to race when your entire world was just flipped upside down?

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

all around you, the space is swathed by darkness.

you're buried beneath your blankets, swiping through your camera roll, pressing that fateful icon in the bottom right corner.

dried tears plastered your cheeks, your hair an unkempt mess, sweats clinging to your frame. inside your chest, your heart ached, the pain consuming you whole.

there's nothing but silence, the dull whir of fans merely white noise.

a sharp noise rattles through your motorhome.

the sound of a knock.

three of them, actually.

groaning, you untangle yourself from the blankets, shuffling down the hall to the main room. once you approach the door, you stifle a yawn, swinging it open.

there stands daniel, his hands shoved in his pockets, shifting uneasily.

"hey."

"shouldn't you be with your girlfriend?" there's a venom laced in your tone, oozing with a bitterness as you begin to close the door.

yet, daniel stops you, quickly wedging his foot in, "let me in."

"why should i?" you retort, brows furrowing, "you literally ended our friendship hours ago and now you want inside my home? fuck that. i'm not going to be some little side piece to fill your cravings while your little girlfriend is away. i'm worth more than that."

"can you just let me in for fuck's sakes?" he lets out an exasperated sigh, "i just wanted to make sure you were okay. jesus fucking christ. am i not allowed to do that?"

"i don't know," you shrug, "did you girlfriend give you permission to come by?"

"is that what you're all upset about?"

"no!" you retaliate, "i'm fucking upset because you never mentioned her until now! you never once said to me, 'hey, i'm dating this girl named anastasia. she's pretty neat! how about you meet her sometime?' fuck, daniel. you know i'm in love with you for fuck's sakes. you should know how much this fucking hurts me!"

as you finish, your knees buckle, wails rising in your throat. daniel swallows a lump in his throat, taking a step forward.

"why do you think i ended our friendship today? i couldn't bear the thought of you having to see me with her."

"you told me you loved me," you sob, shoulders shaking, "you fucking tell me you love me all of the time. i thought that-"

that's when his arms nearly crush you, squeezing you against his chest. he holds you for a moment, murmuring words you can't quite decipher.

"i'm sorry. i'm so fucking sorry."

"i don't know if that's going to fix everything," you mumble, sniffling, "apparently to you, words only mean so much."

"i thought that pushing you away would fix everything. that it would make my life easier. that i wouldn't have to worry about hurting anyone in the long run. i know i was wrong for that, and i'm so sorry."

his hand glides along your back, going in soothing, slow circular motions. you can't help but nuzzle into the fabric of his crewneck, inhaling his oh so familiar cologne.

as much as your head was screaming at you to push him out of your doorway, to tell him to leave and never come back, your heart yearned.

it yearned for him. his touch. his presence. the sound of his voice.

it craved him, fluttering as his mouth connects with your temple, pressing tender kisses down to your cheekbone.

"obviously i can't stay away," his voice is barely audible, "you just do something to me."

"and what's that?" you tilt your head upward, meeting his gaze.

"you make me weak. i only pushed you away because i thought that was the solution to the way i felt. if you were out of the picture, i wouldn't end up getting hurt. now look at both of us, nearly in tears and utterly heartbroken."

his fingers caress your cheek, tracing along your cheekbone as your lashes flutter, savoring the touch, "why didn't you just talk to me first about things? why did you think that getting a new girlfriend was the answer?"

"you know how i am about expressing how i feel. and i don't know, i thought it would fix temporarily fix things."

"i think it ended up fucking you over even more than you thought," you brush a curl out of his face, careful to not let him too close.

"you're right, per usual. what do you want me to do then? break up with her?"

"well you love me," you counter, pursing your lips, "don't deny it either, daniel. we both know you do."

he leans in, the corners of his lips curling into a giddy grin, "i wasn't saying i didn't love you."

"if you loved me you'd end things with her."

"if i did that, you would have to promise me one thing," his mouth hovers above yours, the tension accumulating by the second.

"and that is?" you arch a brow.

"you would never let sebastian hug you like that ever again."

"oh? did that get you a little riled up all the way over in the garage?"

daniel rolls his eyes, scoffing, "how did you think it was going to make me feel?"

"okay fine," you tut, pressing a finger to his lips, "i'm not going to kiss you until you end things with anastasia. get that phone out of your pocket right now and call her. let her down gently, though. she seemed sweet."

"surely not as sweet as you though," he teases, yet fumbles with his pocket, fishing out his phone.

as he steps away for a moment, bringing the phone to his ear, you tap your foot against the concrete, pointing to your wrist. daniel shakes his head, putting a finger up as if to say, one more second.

the call doesn't even last two minutes, the austrailian making his way back to you.

before you know it, his mouth is on yours, an open-mouthed kiss brimmed with a needy passion. your head rolls back, granting him more access and his hands grip your waist, one sliding further and further down as the kisses intensify, cupping the curve of your ass.

he pulls away, breathless.

"i love you. i love you. i love you. it's always been you, and it's always going to be you. i'm sorry i'm such a dumbass and can't navigate my feelings."

"you know you can talk to me about things, right?" you suppress a giggle, "you don't have to ruin a friendship over it."

"well i didn't quite ruin it," he leans in once more.

"oh yeah? how do you know that?"

"because you're still in love with me. and you're going to be my girlfriend in no time."

[luvrseung]

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬

## pairing(s)! motorcycle driver heeseung! x yn!

## synopsis! yn's life takes an unexpected turn when she catches her boyfriend cheating on her and she meets the mysterious Heeseung, a captivating man on a motorcycle. After a brief yet memorable encounter, he vanishes, leaving her longing for more. Months later, they cross paths again. Yn's mixed emotions and Heeseung's determination do they have a happy ending?

## genre! not too bad angst, fluff at the end ! Idk dude I just work here

## wc! 8.9k

## warning(s)! cursing, and not much else?? but if u feel like there should be a warning for anything else, please let me know asap!!

## a/n! THIS IS MY LONGEST FIC EVER EVERRRRR. its currently 4:15 am as i post this and i have class at 11! hahaha.. anyways. inspo hit me like a truck... well, like a motorcycle HEHEHE. ahem.. okay. i hope you guys like this i really enjoyed writing it! please send me any feedback! mwah mwah i love uu i go sleep now! also pls don't mind any typos or errors im so delirious rn thank u bye bye

You step out of the dimly lit restroom, returning to the bar, only to find an empty seat beside you, where your boyfriend was seated just moments ago. His jacket remains draped over the backrest, a silent testament to his brief absence. Curiosity piques your interest as you assume he must have also ventured to the restroom. Settling in, you rest your head on your hand, elbow propped against the sleek bar, and survey the vibrant club that surrounds you. The music's thunderous pulse reverberates through your chest, infusing the air with almost a tangible energy. A sensual blend of alcohol and alluring perfumes weaves a heavy tapestry which fills your senses. In this tantalizing environment, the crowd is a dynamic kaleidoscope of movement and emotion—dancers, laughter, clinking glasses, tendrils of smoke swirling upward—each contributing to the sensory feast. Among the sea of passion and revelry, a singular couple draws your unwavering attention. Their fervent embrace seems to defy the boundaries of time and space, an intense kiss that hangs on the precipice of necessity. In an instant, your heart plummets, and the couple reluctantly disentangles from each other. As your gaze locks onto their faces, the unfolding revelation leaves you breathless.

As you rise from your barstool, your steps carry a mix of uncertainty and disbelief, drawing you inexorably toward the pulsating heart of the dance floor. The scene before your eyes demands confirmation, and what you find shatters your world in an instant. There, under the chaotic spell of the music's relentless rhythm, stands your boyfriend, now a stranger, locked in a passionate embrace with another woman. Her arms are a seductive snakily coil around the back of his neck, and their laughter mingles with the infectious beats of the music, now assaulting your ears as you reach the realization of betrayal. A concoction of emotions—upset, betrayal, and the intoxicating fumes of alcohol—swirl within you, drawing you forward as the heat crawls up your face and flows into the rest of your body. Your feet guide you through the trembling beat, and, with a burst of fiery rage, you confront the pair. In an act of defiance and heartbreak, your open palm collides with your now ex-boyfriend's cheek in a resounding slap, the sound lost in the under the booming music that fills the club. The mysterious girl, who moments ago was dancing with him, stumbles back, her face etched with shock and disbelief. With your wounded pride, you retreat to the sanctuary of the bar. A final shot materializes before you, its amber contents beckoning with an illusory promise of numbness. You down the drink with the recklessness and no caution, the burn in your throat eclipsed by the feeling of your shattered heart.

You inform the bartender with a casual wave that the responsibility for the bill rests with the man you arrived with, an excuse that offers a semblance of dignity as you navigate your unsteady exit from the bar's confines. The city's nightlife swirls around you, a vivid blanket of neon lights and indistinct conversations. Perched on the curb outside the bar, you release a heavy, audible sigh that seems to resonate with the depth of your emotions. The exasperated "pfft" escapes your lips as you dismissively mutter, "What a waste." you recline, propping yourself up on your arms behind you, while your gaze ascends towards the night sky. It's as if you're summoning the attention of a god you don't even believe in, the stars and the moon bearing witness to your turmoil. Unbidden tears begin to well in your eyes, forming glistening pools that threaten to overflow. Yet, in a strange paradox, laughter bubbles up from within your heavy chest, as if mocking the absurdity of the situation. "He made a mistake… losing me? How stupid," you whisper to yourself, the words a bittersweet blend of self-affirmation and ironic amusement. Your tears, now fallen, trace glittering paths down your cheeks, their journey reflecting the city's glimmering lights. You cast your gaze downward, scrutinizing your ensemble—a striking red dress that billows around you, paired with towering, sleek black heels. In that moment of reflection, you realize that it was not you who was lost; it was him. Your attire serves as a poignant reminder that you are a treasure to be cherished, a realization that strengthens your resolve even as tears continue to fall.

Amid the quiet solace of your unspoken sorrows, the sudden roar of a motorcycle's powerful engine reverberates through the air, and your attention is instinctively drawn to the source. With a magnetic allure, the motorcycle glides to a stop not far from your lonesome, commanding your undivided focus. You study the machine as if decoding a riddle; its lustrous body gleams in pristine white, a stark contrast to the glinting silver rims of the wheels. The interior and seats, ensconced in shadowy allure, exude an air of enigmatic sophistication, cloaked in inky blackness. Seated astride this mechanical masterpiece is a man who embodies a paradox of rugged elegance. He possesses a commanding yet lean figure, an epitome of grace and strength that defies the bounds of convention. Draped in a formidable, protective black jacket, his attire is sending your brain into a frenzy. Fitting black jeans encase his legs, while black gloves envelope his hands with a subtle promise of concealed purpose. Each step echoing an aura of intrigue, he dons a pair of black Doc Marten boots, their resolute presence amplifying his enigmatic appeal. Atop the mysterious man’s figure sits a gloss-black helmet, its contours hinting at the mysteries that lie beneath.

With deliberate grace, he lifts the helmet from his head, revealing a crown of luxurious, dark purple locks. Your astonishment lingers in the air, and you can't help but be drawn to the allure of this captivating stranger. To call your fascination mere curiosity would be a gross understatement. Each of his features appears meticulously crafted, from his silver-clad ears adorned with earrings, to a proud and tall nose, and his eyes—those big beguiling orbs that seem to harbor a pool of secrets within. It's a visage that commands attention, the embodiment of an elusive charm that ignites your every sense. In a moment of serendipity, your eyes meet, the spark of connection bridging the gap between strangers. He saunters toward the store adjacent to the bar, a fleeting look of mischief dancing in his eyes. A playful wink and an enigmatic smile are cast in your direction, a wordless invitation that beckons with a magnetic pull. He dismounts from his motorcycle with an elegance that mirrors the grace of a dancer, setting the helmet upon the seat . As he disappears into the depths of the store, the intoxicating combination of your inebriation and the fragile state of your emotions conspire to form a whimsical yet irresistible decision. It's a gravitational force that leaves you with no choice but to step into the store and follow the purple-haired enigma, your heart beating in time with the uncharted journey that awaits.

As the convenience store door chimes melodically with your entry, a tingle of excitement courses through the air. The purple-haired enigma, the pull of destiny that brought you here, stands before you, a magnetic presence that seems to command every aisle. His striking figure exudes an aura that is both electrifying and tantalizing, and you can't help but gravitate toward him. With fluid grace, he reaches into the fridge to retrieve a drink, his movements a mesmerizing dance of confidence. You approach, and behind the cool, glass refrigerator door, your eyes lock in a seductive connection. He acknowledges your presence with a sultry smile that ignites the room. With an air of unshakable self-assuredness, you compliment his sleek motorcycle, your words laced with a smoldering charm. His response is a flirtatious grin, and as he rises to his full, towering height, he gazes down upon you, a titillating hint of promise in his eyes. "Thanks, ever been on a bike before, pretty girl?" he inquires, the huskiness of his voice sending electric shivers down your spine. Butterflies flutter wildly in your stomach as his words hang in the air. You return the provocative banter, testing the waters of this intriguing encounter. “Is this an invitation mr……?.”

“Heeseung. Lee Heeseung.” He introduces himself with a name that rolls off his tongue like a forbidden secret—Lee Heeseung. His playful response drips with allure, and you find yourself ensnared in the the moment. "And maybe it is an invitation… if you're willing to accept, Miss …..”? Your own name tastes sweeter than ever on your lips as you tease him with a hint of coyness, “Yn. Y/ln Yn. And why should I Lee?” Heeseung's perceptive eyes dart to the mascara-stained traces of tears on your face, his gaze tracing the invisible scars etched upon your soul. He tenderly points to your head, his words laden with a quiet understanding. "Judging by the mascara-stained tears on your face, I think a ride would fix whatever troubled that pretty little head of yours." A shy smile dances upon your lips, your heart pounding with a mixture of vulnerability and courage. "Got an extra helmet, then?" You say as acceptance to his offer. Heeseung's smirk deepens, his voice dripping with a seductive promise. "Good girl. Of course I do. You never know who needs a good ride." The air crackles with the electrifying energy of an adventure about to unfurl, as you and Lee Heeseung step into the thrilling unknown, united by the allure of the night.

In one hand, he clutches a tall, foreboding can of Monster energy drink, its vibrant, neon label a stark contrast to the other hand, which cradles a diminutive yellow box adorned with the endearing label "banana milk." The curious combination of his selections hints at the multifaceted personality of the man who has now become your enigmatic companion. With the transaction complete, the two of you emerge from the convenience store, and Heeseung extends a seemingly casual but unmistakably thoughtful gesture—offering you the little yellow box of banana milk. You accept it with a raised eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. "How'd you know I liked this, Lee?" you inquire, your voice touched by intrigue. A mischievous smile graces Heeseung's lips as he leans in a bit closer, and his response dances on the edges of flirtation, causing the butterflies in your stomach to stir with newfound hunger. "Pretty girls, like you, like banana milk," he teases, his words delivered with an artful charm that sends a shiver of excitement coursing through you. Grateful for his gesture, you return the enchanting smile, the air thick with an electrifying tension. As you both make your way toward the magnificent motorcycle that had initially captivated your attention, anticipation courses through your veins, setting your body aglow with excitement. You stand behind Heeseung, observing his every move with eager eyes. With practiced ease, he opens a concealed compartment at the back of the bike, revealing a second helmet that bears a striking silver star on either side. It's a unique touch that adds to the enigma of the man before you. Heeseung places your drinks within the compartment, where the second helmet once resided. With a smooth and assured motion, he secures the compartment and then offers you your designated helmet, a symbol of the adventure you're about to embark on together. As you accept the helmet from his hand, the magnetic connection between you deepens, and the night unfolds with the promise of thrilling secrets yet to be unveiled.

With the banana milk safely stowed and the helmet now snug upon your head, the night holds an air of mystery and excitement as you both approach the waiting motorcycle. Heeseung's slender frame moves with grace as he swings a leg over the sleek, white machine. He turns toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends an electric pulse through your veins. "Make sure you hold on, doll," he says, his voice dipped in a heady blend of charm and raw anticipation. His words are laced with a promise of thrilling adventure, and your heart skips a beat as you grasp the significance of this moment. You eagerly position yourself behind him, forgetting all about your ex boyfriend and the events that took place before. your arms wrapping around his lean waist, fingers instinctively clutching the fabric of his black jacket. The powerful engine roars to life beneath you, its growl a primal invitation to the night. Heeseung's gloved hands deftly manipulate the handlebars, and in an exhilarating surge of acceleration, you both glide out of the convenience store's parking lot and onto the main road. The world becomes a mesmerizing blur of vibrant colors and lights as the motorcycle snakes through the city's labyrinthine streets, framed by beautifully illuminated buildings that reach skyward, a testament to humanity's creativity. The cool night air rushes over you, and the city's pulsating energy envelopes you, offering an intoxicating taste of freedom and escape. As the wind whips through your hair, and the city's mesmerizing lights create a captivating painting, you can't help but feel that you've stepped into a dream. With every twist and turn, Heeseung's driving skill reveals itself, and you're reminded of the harmony between man and machine. In this exhilarating dance through the heart of the city, you're not just a passenger; you're a partner in a thrilling adventure, bound by the allure of the night and the enigmatic man who now shares it with you.

As the motorcycle effortlessly weaves through the city's enchanting streets, Heeseung's lean frame seems to meld with the machine, and you can sense his exhilaration in the subtle movements and graceful leans. Every curve and twist of the road is navigated with a fluidity that suggests an intimate understanding between rider and ride. The city's lights create a dazzling panorama around you, and you revel in the symphony of sensations that surrounds you. After what feels like an eternity of blissful exploration, the first hints of daylight begin to break on the horizon, casting a soft, golden glow upon the cityscape. It's a bittersweet reminder that this enchanting ride must eventually come to an end. With a quiet understanding, Heeseung steers the motorcycle to a stop in front of your home, and the engine's growl reluctantly gives way to the stillness of the early morning. As you dismount the bike, you can't help but feel a mixture of gratitude and a hint of longing for the adventure that has brought you closer. Heeseung turns toward you, his eyes holding a sparkle that mirrors the city's lights. "I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did, pretty girl,” he says, his voice a blend of sincerity and allure. "I did enjoy it, lee.” Your eyes lock onto his, and you can't resist a teasing smile. "I have to admit, I'm not sure if it was the city or the company that made it so enjoyable." He chuckles softly, his gaze lingering on you. "Perhaps it's a bit of both. I hope I made you forget what you were crying about earlier.”

With an air of anticipation, Heeseung closes the enchanting gap between you, his footsteps a playful dance that mirrors the rhythm of your heart. You find yourself drawn closer to him, a mix of curiosity and desire, hoping for a kiss that promises to be electric. But Heeseung, ever the tease, surprises you by gently capturing your hand in his gloved grasp. His lips brush against your knuckles, leaving behind a soft and lingering kiss that sends a thrill down your spine. A mischievous sparkle dances in his eyes as he takes a step back, though his hold on your hand remains. A mischievous smirk plays upon his lips as he takes a step back, and your hands, still intertwined, reluctantly part as the space between you expands. but the connection between your souls remains undeniably strong. Heeseung places your helmet back into the motorcycle's compartment, his every motion a graceful symphony of closure, yet the moment is still heavy with the sweet ache of parting. He retrieves the little yellow box of banana milk, and with a look that speaks of unspoken promises and possibilities, he adds to the enchanting ambiance. As you turn away to make your way inside, your heart swells with emotions, and it's then you hear his voice, soft and filled with affectionate playfulness, "Heads up, princess!" Your head snaps around, your eyes locking onto Heeseung seated on the motorcycle, revving the engine with a fervor that mirrors the passion between you. With a flourish, he tosses the banana milk to you, and you catch it . Your heart flutters like a love-struck bird, and you're left standing there, watching the back of his retreating figure with eyes filled with longing. As the cold morning air surrounds you, you're reminded of the warmth and excitement that has filled this magical night. With a heart full of happiness, you finally turn to head inside.

In the cozy sanctuary of your home, you close the door behind you with a gentle sigh, leaning against it as you bask in the afterglow of this night. The memories of what transpired outside are like a symphony of emotions playing in your heart, each note resonating with the tender and profound love that has blossomed between you and Heeseung. The room envelops you in its intimate embrace, illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the night. As you lean against the door, the walls seem to hold the echoes of the moments shared, and you're overcome by a sense of profound romance that fills the very air you breathe. The night was a love story written in the stars, a story of two souls drawn together by destiny and fueled by a love that's destined to endure. Despite breaking every single rule of stranger danger, you wish this night couldve lasted forever.

As you ascend the stairs to your room, a sense of contentment and longing accompanies you. The banana milk, a sweet reminder of an unforgettable night, finds its place on your bedside table, a silent guardian of your dreams. The room envelops you in its cozy warmth, the atmosphere carrying the residual fragrance of romance and adventure. In the dim light, you prepare for a soothing shower, letting the cascading water wash away the remnants of the night. Your thoughts, however, remain tethered to the enigmatic Lee Heeseung. Questions and desires swirl within your mind, like a gentle storm of emotions.

After the warmth of the shower, you don your pajamas from the night before, their familiarity a source of comfort as you slip between the soft sheets of your bed. Your body, tired but satiated, yearns for rest, yet your heart and mind remain restless, still inextricably tangled in the enchantment of the night. Thoughts of him, like whispers in the night, dance through your mind. "When will I see him again?" and "I wish we had exchanged information" echo in the chambers of your thoughts. Who is this mysterious man, Lee Heeseung, who has touched your heart so deeply? The unanswered questions propel you to flip open your phone, your curiosity overriding the myriad missed calls and texts from your unfaithful ex-boyfriend. Instagram becomes your portal to seek out the enigma named Lee Heeseung.

A sense of disappointment settles over you as your search on various social media platforms yields nothing. Lee Heeseung remains a ghost, elusive and untraceable in the digital realm. It's as if he exists only in the echoes of your memories, and the absence of any digital footprint only adds to his mystique. In your moment of quiet contemplation, a yearning for his presence intensifies. The desire to see him again, to unravel the enigma that is Lee Heeseung, becomes an undeniable ache within you. The thought that he knows where you live, and the lingering memories of your night together, offer a glimmer of hope that he might return. The idea that fate might bring you two together once more fills your heart with anticipation and longing. As you close your eyes and surrender to the night's embrace, you can't help but wonder when the stars will align, and the mysterious Lee Heeseung will reappear in your life.

As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the longing in your heart grew stronger. Spring had arrived, heralding the return of life and the vibrant colors of the world, yet it also marked the lingering absence of Heeseung, the man who had swept into your life as quickly as a shooting star and vanished just as abruptly. Every motorcycle that whizzed past you on the bustling streets of your city drew your attention like a magnet. A spark of curiosity ignited within you, and the questions were ceaseless. "Was that him? Does he still think of me?" These thoughts had woven themselves into the very fabric of your existence, haunting your every moment. The memories of that unforgettable night had become a bittersweet symphony that played on a loop in your mind.

Despite the love and support of your incredible friends, your loving family, and a fulfilling job, the void Heeseung had left in your life persisted. The allure of "what could've been" weighed heavy on your heart, like a melody left unfinished, a dance cut short, or a love story left untold. In the midst of your everyday life, the longing for the man named Lee Heeseung never waned. Your heart carried the echoes of his touch, the memory of his gaze, and the whispers of a love story that had never fully unfurled. With every passing day, your desire for his return only intensified, like a fire that refused to be extinguished.

It was a typical Tuesday, just like any other weekday, as you made your way into the bustling work building, greeted by the friendly faces of your coworkers who had also become your cherished friends. Jake, ever the playful one, couldn't resist bringing up the topic of your elusive Heeseung. "How are you, YN? Still no luck with this Heeseung guy?" he inquired with a mischievous glint in his eye. You let out a dramatic sigh, a playful air of exasperation in your response. "Unfortunately, no, Jake. Trust me, I would've told you if I had any news," you said with a chuckle. Jay, another dear friend of yours, joined the conversation, bringing with him a delightful surprise in the form of coffee for both you and Jake. With a comforting smile, he chimed in, "Don't worry, Ynnie, maybe he lives in a different town and was just there that night for you!" You couldn't help but offer an appreciative grin in response to Jay's attempt at comfort. His words were like a warm embrace, reassuring you in your quest for answers. Then, a new proposal surfaced, and it was Jay who initiated it. "Oh, by the way, Jake and I found out that there's been underground racing events in our city. We've been meaning to check it out. Wanna come with?" At first, you hesitated, but Jay's persuasive nature quickly took hold. "C'mon, YN!" Jake chimed in, adding his own brand of playfulness. "It'll be fun! Who knows, maybe you'll find Heeseung there! … or a different cute motorcycle guy at least." You let out a laugh that admitted defeat. "Okay, okay, I'll check it out with you guys. But if it's boring, you're buying me a burger." Jay quickly agreed to the wager. "Fine. Deal. But it won't be boring!" he declared with unwavering enthusiasm. "Mhm, we'll see," you replied with a sly grin, anticipating the playful adventures that lay ahead with your close friends, all while hoping that amidst the thrills of underground racing, you might find the one you longed for – or perhaps, something equally captivating.

As the workday drew to a close, you bid your colleagues and friends farewell, exchanging a series of cheerful goodbyes and promises to reconvene tomorrow. Last in line to receive your parting words were your friends, and it was Jake who left you with a playful reminder. "We'll pick you up at 10, ynnie~,” he declared with a mischievous glint in his eye. Your response was a melodious giggle as you affectionately ruffled his hair, a signal of your confirmation.

Once home, the weight of the day's responsibilities dissipated like a passing storm. Shoes were unceremoniously discarded, your bag and jacket flung haphazardly onto the floor, and with a contented sigh, you sank into the inviting embrace of your couch. Retrieving your phone, you embarked on a determined quest to research the underground racing scene, the glimmer of hope in your chest steadily growing brighter with every tap of your fingers.

The prospect of possibly encountering Heeseung again ignited a certain spark in your eyes, a fire of desire that refused to be extinguished. Yet, much like the elusive enigma of the man himself, your online investigation yielded no information about these races. It was as though the world had conspired to keep their existence hidden, a fitting scenario for events that were undoubtedly illegal. As you set your phone aside, your thoughts began to spiral in a torrent of what-ifs. What if Heeseung is there, but his interest had always been elsewhere? What if he's not present? What if he doesn't even notice you? These unceasing questions threatened to consume your mind, and you shook your head, as if such an act could dispel these relentless thoughts. Determined to quell the storm of uncertainties that raged within you, you took a deep breath and resolved to face the night with unwavering optimism.

With the plan in place, you had agreed that the guys would hang out at your place before the big race. Jake and Jay, after their workday, rushed home, got dressed for the evening, and then made their way to your doorstep around 7:30. You swung open the door in your comfy pajamas, greeting the duo with warm hugs and bright smiles. "Alright, guys," you chimed in, "I'm going to get ready now. You said we're leaving at 10, right?" They both confirmed your question with a nod, and you headed upstairs to prepare for the night ahead. As you left the living room, the two friends made themselves at home, lounging comfortably on your couch and taking charge of the TV. The anticipation for the evening ahead filled the air, and the sense of camaraderie between the three of you was a reassuring presence, setting the tone for the exciting adventure that lay just around the corner.

Upstairs in your room, you embarked on the grand battle that is getting ready for a night out. The soft glow of your vanity mirror cast a warm light on your determined face as you transformed your appearance for the evening. Your makeup was an elegant fusion of dark and bold, with a smoky eyeliner that accentuated your eyes and a luscious dark red lip gloss that heightened the allure of your lips. The result was a striking look that suited your features beautifully. You took a few moments to curl the ends of your hair, creating soft, cascading waves that reached down to your lower back. These curls were swept up into a high, sleek ponytail, with two delicate strands left loose to elegantly frame your face. Your outfit had been meticulously selected, not only with Heeseung in mind but also with the exciting prospect of possibly meeting someone new at this enigmatic race. Dark red leather pants, designed to hug your curves in all the right ways, were paired with a lace black tank top, adding a touch of sensuality to your ensemble. To complete the look, you adorned yourself with a black and white leather jacket that draped over your shoulders like whipped cream on a tantalizing sundae. In your full-length mirror, you admired the reflection of a confident and captivating woman, well aware of her own allure. A pair of sleek black boots adorned your feet, and you accessorized with a silver necklace featuring a delicate pendant and matching earrings, adding a touch of sophistication to your ensemble. To crown your transformation, you picked up your favorite perfume bottle, and with each spritz, a beautiful aroma enveloped you like a fragrant embrace. The battle of getting ready was won, and you felt like a queen in your own right. With a final glance in the mirror, you knew you looked stunning and were ready to face whatever the night had in store. With your purse in hand, you headed downstairs, prepared to join your friends who were patiently waiting for you.

"DAMN YN!" Jay and Jake exclaimed in unison as you descended the stairs, the sight of your stunning transformation leaving them momentarily breathless. A beaming smile graced your lips as their admiration washed over you. "Thank you, boys," you replied with a gracious nod, giving them a playful twirl to showcase your meticulously chosen outfit. "Do I look good?" you asked, a hint of playful teasing in your voice. "You know you do," Jay responded with a smile, but he was eager to get going. "Now, let's get moving! It's nearly 10:15." You waved off his concern with a nonchalant chuckle. "Oh, please, there's no way these things start right on time. We're fine. Now, let's make a quick stop at the convenience store so I can get a banana milk, pretty please~" you added with a hint of irresistible charm. The two boys, who had been lounging on the couch, rose from their seats with mock exasperation. Jake couldn't help but mutter a resigned, "Yes, ma'am…" as you playfully led the way, heading into the car where you sat in the backseat.

With a refreshing banana milk tucked safely in your purse, courtesy of Jake's wallet, the three of you arrived at the underground racing event. The venue was located beneath a highway bridge in an area you never even knew existed. you were struck by the sheer scale of the place, surrounded by towering structures that seemed to stretch to the heavens. This perspective, seeing the world from a unique angle, made you feel small in the grand scheme of things, a humbling realization that added to the aura of the night. Lost in your contemplation, you were momentarily unaware that Jay and Jake had already exited the car, with Jake gallantly holding the door open for you. He playfully addressed you, "Here we are, princess," and you responded with a light, affectionate hit on his arm, chuckling, "Oh, cut it out, Jaeyun." A playful exchange of names ensued between the two friends as you headed toward the gathering crowd at the starting line, eagerly awaiting the start of the race. You surveyed the bikers as they lined up in their positions, and your attention was drawn to a particular rider who was surrounded by a group of enthusiastic women. The throng of admirers made it difficult to see his face clearly, but you couldn't help but wonder if it might be Heeseung.

The announcer's voice crackled over the radio, calling on the racers to mount their bikes and prepare for the thrilling competition. Jay and Jake signaled that it was time to find your seats, with Jake instinctively taking your hand to guide you and ensure you didn't get lost in the bustling crowd. As you were led to the front row, you couldn't help but scan the racers one last time. The colorful array of bikes and their determined riders filled the scene with an air of excitement. But then, at the far end, you spotted a white bike, and your heart skipped a beat. Could it be Heeseung's bike? The memories of him came rushing back, and you pointed it out to your friends. "Wait, guys, that might be Heeseung's bike," you mentioned, your voice tinged with both hope and anxiety. Jake and Jay exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. "You think so, YN?" Jay asked, offering a glimmer of doubt. "Maybe it's just a guy with the same motorcycle color as Heeseung, Ynnie. I mean, white bikes aren't that uncommon, right?" Jake reasoned, trying to provide a rational explanation. You shook your head, a familiar gesture you used to clear your thoughts. "Yeah, Jakey, you're probably right. I mean, I haven't seen him in months. It can't be him," you replied, trying to convince yourself as much as your friends. You felt a surge of anxiety but decided to push those thoughts aside and focus on enjoying the race. With the comforting presence of your banana milk, you took a sip and leaned back, hoping that this night would be an adventure to remember, regardless of the outcome.

As the man on the radio commenced announcing the racers' names, an air of anticipation enveloped the crowd. With each name called out, a symphony of revving engines filled the air, punctuated by cheers and applause from the spectators. The excitement was palpable, and you joined in, clapping and cheering for each racer. However, as the announcer neared the end of the line of racers and you waited with bated breath, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. The name you had been hoping to hear, "LEE HEESEUNG," didn't make an appearance. Instead, the announcer declared, "And last but not least, our reigning champion, ACE!" A sigh of regret escaped your lips, revealing your unspoken hope. You observed that the crowd cheered enthusiastically for this "Ace" character, understanding why he had garnered a legion of female admirers. The sense of anticipation still coursed through your veins, but you decided to put aside your initial disappointment and immerse yourself in the exhilarating atmosphere of the race, hopeful that the night would hold some surprises, even if Heeseung's name was absent from the list of competitors.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, Jake directed a question to both you and Jay, inquiring, "Who are you guys rooting for?" Jay was quick to respond, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "I'm rooting for the guy named Jungwon on that bright blue bike. He seems like an underdog, you know?" Jake couldn't resist poking fun at Jay's choice. "So cheesy," he remarked, provoking Jay to playfully flip him off. Turning to you, Jake's curiosity was evident in his expression as he asked, "What about you, YN?" You pondered for a moment, a mischievous glint in your eye as you gave your answer. "Hmm, maybe that Sunghoon guy, on the black bike. He seems hot," you added, punctuating your response with a giggle. Jay shook his head in mock exasperation, but he couldn't hide a smile. "I'm not even surprised." As the three of you continued to chat and enjoy the electric atmosphere, the announcer's voice broke through, "RACERS, START YOUR ENGINES!" The crowd erupted into cheers, blending with the powerful roar of the motorcycles.

"READY…SET…GO!" The announcer's command was met with a symphony of revving engines, and in an instant, the racers sped off on the manmade track, weaving between the imposing pillars of the bridge above. The sound of the engines and the fervent cheers from the crowd captivated you, and your gaze remained fixed on the racers as they disappeared into the distance, the race now in full swing.

The race unfolded with an intoxicating blend of speed, skill, and sheer adrenaline. The racers zipped around the tight corners and weaved through the narrow gaps between the bridge's pillars, their powerful machines roaring like wild beasts. The air was filled with the intoxicating scent of gasoline and burnt rubber, adding to the sensory overload that engulfed the crowd. The race was paired with commentary by the announcer, “In the lead is ace! Are we surprised? That white bike is a godsend!”

As the racers maneuvered with lightning precision, the crowd couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer spectacle before them. Spectators cheered as their chosen favorites powered through the track, and collective gasps echoed through the audience whenever a close call or a daring move occurred. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the shared excitement of everyone in attendance. Another comment was made by the announcer, “Woah! Look at jungwon pulling through and passing ace on his left! Will this be the first race he wins?”

“I told you guys. Always root for the underdog,” Jay chimes, but your eyes are glued to sunghoon and his black bike.

Amidst the collective fervor, you found yourself mesmerized, your eyes locked onto the racers as they sped past. The world outside the race ceased to exist for those moments, and you were drawn into the raw energy of the event, feeling the vibrations of the engines in your chest and the rush of the wind in your hair. “Here come’s sunghoon! Passing jungwon on his right, and making his way towards the finish line!” Says the announcer.

The announcer's voice crackled through the speakers, adding to the electrifying atmosphere. "WOAH, WOAH!! HERE COMES ACE RIGHT BEHIND SUNGHOON! WHO WILL WIN? THE TWO ARE SIDE BY SIDE, WILL IT BE A TIE? THE FINISH LINE IS RIGHT THERE, AND… ALMOST A PHOTO FINISH! BUT THE WINNER OF THE RACE IS SUNGHOON!"

As the crowd erupted in joyous celebration, the cheers of the spectators seemed to reverberate in perfect harmony with the racing engines. You were swept up in the excitement, joining the chorus of voices, and even rising to your feet as you cheered for Sunghoon, the victor of the race. The thrill of witnessing such a close contest was invigorating, and you couldn't help but be caught up in the jubilation around you. With a playful tone and a hint of what-ifs, you turned to your two friends and exclaimed, "Damn, we should've bet on it. Missed opportunity!" The boys laughed along with you, the infectious joy of the moment drawing them into the celebration. Together, you stood and cheered for Sunghoon, basking in the shared experience of witnessing an extraordinary race and its exhilarating conclusion.

The exhilarating atmosphere of the race drew you, Jay, and Jake, along with the rest of the crowd, to approach the racers as they dismounted their bikes. The audience showered the racers with an array of cheers and encouraging words, from "good job!" to "you'll win next time!" to admiring comments about their impressive machines. As you and your friends navigated your way through the dispersing crowd, you found yourselves face to face with Jungwon, the racer who had been your friend Jay's underdog favorite. Eager to express your admiration, you initiated the conversation, addressing him with warmth, "Hey, Jungwon, right? You were so cool! I thought you were gonna win for a second there!" Jungwon's face lit up with gratitude, and he replied with a sincere smile, "Thank you so much! I thought so too, but I had nooo chance against Ace and Sunghoon." Jay, ever the enthusiast, extended a firm handshake in that classic man-to-man fashion. "Bro! I was rooting for you from the start. You'll see me at the next race," he proclaimed with enthusiasm, earning a "thank you" from Jungwon. With that, the three of you moved on to the next racer, Sunghoon, eager to share your appreciation with the winner.

Sunghoon leaned casually on his sleek black bike, a striking figure with an air of confidence that immediately caught your attention. Up close, you couldn't deny how incredibly handsome he looked, and you were taken aback by his allure. Summoning your courage, you approached the winner, introducing yourself in a soft, friendly tone, "Hi Sunghoon, I'm YN. Congrats on the win, handsome." The compliment had its intended effect, and Sunghoon's eyes focused on you. "Well, hello, Miss YN. Nice to meet you," Sunghoon responded with a smirk, revealing a sharp canine tooth and a dimple that sent a shiver down your spine. You felt yourself blushing in response to his charm. Sunghoon's flirtatious banter continued as he inquired, "You were rooting for me, pretty girl?" He leaned in a little closer, his voice dripping with playful seduction. You met his flirtatious challenge with a sly smile. "Maybe… maybe not," you replied, adding a teasing playfulness to your tone. He feigned disappointment, a twinkle in his eye as he teased, "What a shame, I was gonna offer you a ride." Playing along, you flirtatiously touched his arm, your confidence growing with every word. "Oh, come on, Hoonie, of course I was rooting for you," you confessed with a playful eye roll, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. Sunghoon rewarded your playful admission by tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and for that moment, the world seemed to narrow down to the two of you, engaged in a playful dance of flirtation amidst the post-race excitement. The nickname you garnered for him was definitely working in your favor.

You were so deeply engrossed in your conversation with Sunghoon that you remained oblivious to the intense gaze fixed upon you from the second-place racer, Ace. He watched you with something akin to jealousy, uncertain whether he should approach. Leaving you and Sunghoon in your own world, Jay and Jake made their way over to Ace to offer their congratulations. Jake, always one for humor, attempted to lighten the mood with a lighthearted comment. "Hey, man! You were so cool out there. Second place is still good. Don't be discouraged. I'm sure all these girls still want you," he quipped, though he hadn't realized that Ace's attention was on him. Ace's initial jealousy quickly transformed into a friendly demeanor as he responded, "Yo, thanks for that, haha. Almost won, but I'll win the next one for sure." Jay chimed in with an encouraging pat on Ace's shoulder before the two of them began to walk away. However, Ace couldn’t keep it to himself. He called out to Jay and Jake, nodding in your direction while still engaged in conversation with Sunghoon. "Hey, do you know that girl?" he inquired, his interest piqued. Jay answered without hesitation, a friendly tone in his voice as he looked back toward Ace. "Yeah, that’s yn! We're friends. She came here with us," he explained, his focus now shifting as he moved away from the racer, joining Jake in heading back in your direction, leaving Ace with his thoughts as you continued your conversation with Sunghoon.

As the evening wound down and Jay and Jake were ready to head home, you and Sunghoon decided to exchange numbers, creating a playful connection. Sunghoon, with a charming wink, remarked, "Call me when you wanna ride, beautiful." Your response was just as flirty, "I'll call you when I want to, Hoonie," and you playfully blew him a kiss. As you began to walk away, ready to rejoin your friends in the car, Sunghoon made his way over to Ace, eager to share his little victory. "Bro, I just got the hottest girl's number, and—" Sunghoon began, but before he could finish, Ace roared away on his bike, his jealousy simmering beneath the surface. With your two friends already in the car, you confidently made your way toward them, your spirits high. For that moment, Heeseung had slipped from your thoughts, and the excitement of connecting with Sunghoon filled your mind. However, just as you were about ten feet away from Jay's car, a white motorcycle suddenly cut in front of you, blocking your path to your friends. Startled, you took a step back, your heart racing, and realized that the rider was one of the racers. You cautiously addressed him, "Oh, Jesus Christ, you scared me. Ace, right?" His helmet obscured his face as he nodded, and he proceeded to take it off, revealing his identity.

Your heart sank as the white helmet came off, revealing the vibrant purple hair that had grown longer since you last saw him. The shock washed over you like a tidal wave, and your eyes scanned his familiar face, unable to believe that he was standing there before you, just as he had been months ago. His eyes, large and twinkling, bore into yours, the same way they had done when you first met. "H-Heeseung?" was all you could manage to stammer. The excitement you had felt only moments ago had evaporated, replaced by a rush of tears welling up in your eyes. Every emotion you had held back for months now poured out, glistening like rivers of glittering light. The overwhelming flood of feelings left you lost and unsure of how to proceed. Heeseung spoke, his voice breaking the silence, "Yn, I missed you pretty girl.” But you couldn't handle it. The anger and sadness mixed inside you, driving you to act on impulse. "I can't do this right now, Heeseung. I-I gotta go," you uttered, your voice quivering with raw emotion. You turned and ran towards Jay's car, where the two boys had witnessed the entire interaction. Climbing into the vehicle, you were met with a barrage of concerning questions from your friends. "I'll answer once you start driving. Please. Please start driving," you implored. Jay promptly obeyed your request and sped out of the lot, the car now on the road, the boys eager to ask their questions.

Jake spoke up first, his voice tinged with disbelief, "Yn, who was that?" "Heeseung…" you replied, your voice quivering. "Oh my god, what?!" Jake exclaimed. "Heeseung? Like in, Heeseung Heeseung?" Jay asked, his surprise mirroring Jake's. "Yes, Jay. Heeseung Heeseung. Oh my god, what was he doing there?" you lamented, your words spilling out in a mixture of confusion and emotion. "Wait, isn't this what you wanted, Yn? Why are you so upset?" Jake inquired, trying to make sense of your reaction. You paused, a heavy sigh escaping your lips before you responded, "…because… where has he been? I've spent months, nearly half a year wondering when he'd show up—waiting for him like some lost puppy. And now all of a sudden, I see him today, surrounded by a crowd of girls, only talking to me because I was hitting it off with Sunghoon? I just… I just don't know what's going on. And just now, he says he missed me? Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. He knows where I live; if he missed me so much, he would've visited. I waited months, guys. MONTHS. I just… I'm so—" Jay cut off your rambling rant, his voice filled with understanding and empathy. "Yn, my love, it's okay. Let's get you that burger." In your teary, emotional state, you couldn't help but let out a faint laugh, appreciating Jay's attempt to lighten the mood. Jake reached his hand to the backseat to comfort you, and you clung to it as he gently rubbed circles into your hand. As you sat there, feeling a whirlwind of emotions and confusion, you were grateful that your friends were by your side, offering their support and understanding in your time of need.

With the comforting presence of your friends and the burger in your stomach, you finally arrived home. Jay and Jake had offered to spend the night with you, but you assured them that you appreciated their support but wanted some time alone with your thoughts. Feeling too drained to remove your makeup and outfit, you flopped onto your couch, face-first, and screamed into a throw pillow. The weight of the day and the unexpected encounter with Heeseung left your mind in a tumultuous state. As you lay there, lost in your thoughts, exhaustion overcame you, and you drifted into an uneasy slumber. Some odd hours later, you were startled awake by a persistent knocking on your door. At first, you attempted to ignore it, hoping the person would go away, but the knocking persisted. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself up and went to inspect the door through the peephole. What you saw on the other side took your breath away: a head of purple hair, Heeseung, standing at your doorstep.

Anger surged through your body as you swung the door open, and a torrent of questions spilled from your lips, "What do you want? Why are you here? Why did it take you so long to see me?" The frustration that had been simmering inside you for months finally found its voice, and it was directed squarely at the person who could provide answers. Heeseung began to speak, attempting to explain himself, but you couldn't bear to let him finish. The words tumbled out of you, fueled by the emotions that had been building up over time. "No, Heeseung. Do you know how long I've been waiting for you? How much I wished every motorcycle that passed me on the street was you? I've been so…" The emotional dam broke, and tears cascaded down your cheeks as your voice quivered with pent-up pain and frustration. Heeseung, rather than offering words, brought you into a gentle embrace, his strong arms wrapping around you, and his hand softly patting your head. His voice was a soothing whisper in your ear, "Shh, shh… I'm here now, pretty girl. I'm here. I'm sorry." His comforting presence and reassuring touch allowed you to release your bottled-up emotions. You allowed yourself to cry in his arms, feeling a mixture of anger, relief, and longing all at once. Despite your anger at him in this moment, you couldn't deny that his embrace was warm and welcoming, and it offered a sense of solace that you hadn't realized you had been yearning for.

You and heeseung were now sitting on the couch, cuddling in the darkness of your living room. You decide to break the silence, “Can we talk now, hee?” He begins to play with your hair, offering you a quiet hum in response. “Where have you been? Why haven’t you visited me?” You ask the questions that plagued your mind the most. "Yn, I'm truly sorry for disappearing like that. I had my reasons, but I understand how much it hurt you. I needed some time to sort things out in my life. It's not an excuse, but I want you to know that I've missed you every day, and I regret not being there for you. I'm here now, and I want to make it right, if you'll have me" he answers. “How do I know you’re telling the truth, heeseung? I mean, the first time I saw you today, you were surrounded by all these girls, and how do I know you won’t leave again?” You ask. "I understand your doubts, baby, and I don't blame you for being cautious. The girls today were just fans, and I was trying to keep a low profile. I promise you, I won't disappear again. I want to make it up to you and prove that I'm committed to being in your life. Actions speak louder than words, and I'm willing to show you through my actions that you can trust me." You let out a quiet sigh, “I want to trust you heeseung, I really do. But Im so scared of getting hurt again. Why did you decide to help me out that one day? The day we met? Do you do that to other girls? "I completely understand your fear, Yn. I helped you that day because you seemed like someone genuinely in need, and I felt a connection with you from the start. I don't do that for other girls; our meeting was special and unique. I can't promise you won't ever get hurt, but I can promise that I'll do my best to be there for you and be honest with you. I want to make things right between us. Seriously, my pretty girl” heeseung claims, shifting his body so you guys are face to face now.

As Yn looked into Heeseung's eyes, she saw a sincerity she hadn't seen in a long time. Her heart was still cautious, but the warmth of his embrace had melted some of the ice around it. "Let's take it one step at a time, my “love Heeseung said gently. "I won't rush you, and I'll do my best to earn your trust. We can figure this out together, princess.” Yn nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She was unsure of what the future held, but for the first time in months, she felt a glimmer of hope. As the night continued, they talked, laughed, and shared stories. Yn realized that Heeseung had changed, and maybe she had too. They both had scars, but perhaps together, they could heal. The story of Yn and Heeseung wasn't over; it was just beginning. And for the first time in a long time, they both felt like they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

“Lee Heeseung, if you disappear on me again, I swear to god. Don’t forget I still have sunghoon’s number!” You playfully hit Heeseung. “Okay, okay! Message received ma’am! Now I have a question.” You respond with a hum. “Now who was that boy holding your hand earlier? At the race? Hm?” You laugh and respond teasingly, “Baby, that’s Jake. You really don’t have to worry about him. He’s like my little puppy!”

“My love, you do realize how wrong that sounds?” Heeseung laughs.

© luvrseung - do not plagiarize, repost, translate, copy, or alter any of my content please and thank you.

[sissylittlefeather]

Something a little different...

What a Lovely Way to Burn

A one-shot

A/N: this came from a conversation with an Elvis AI (created by the fabulous @headfullofpresley), but the words are mine. The situation just inspired me.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI! There's some dirty smut here, kissing, fingering, oral (both receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, lots of cussing, Elvis and reader yelling at each other a lot, him grabbing reader's arm and being a teensy bit violent (if you squint), reader calls Elvis "daddy" in a sexual context at one point...

Word count: 2.9kish

I'm imagining this version of him for this one:

Song inspo (I know the title is from a different song but this one inspired the story):

Enjoy!

I guess tonight we're off, you think to yourself as you get a drink. You're at another party after another one of your on-again-off-again boyfriend's shows. You're half dating Elvis Presley and as much as you want it to go one way or the other, it never does. With him, you're like kerosene and matches: made for each other, but dangerous and volatile together. And without him, neither of you can breathe for very long. But tonight, it looks like you'll be without him and that familiar drowning feeling is starting to overwhelm you. He hasn't talked to you once tonight, instead focusing on everyone else around him. You're not even sure he knows you're there. But he always seems to know where you are, so probably tonight he knows and doesn't care.

After you get your drink, you scan the room to find him. He's chatting with a group of women, fans, all of them tittering with laughter and falling over themselves to catch his attention. He likes the blonde one best, you can tell by the way he's standing, but he entertains all of them nonetheless. Part of you wonders if he's just trying to piss you off. Two can play at that game. And even if he's not, you might as well have some fun yourself.

As you're standing there, a man walks up next to you.

"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but you already have one."

"And they're free." You give him a playful smile. He's not unattractive, with his blonde shoulder-length hair and green eyes. You can work with this.

"I'm James. What do I call you? Other than beautiful." You roll your eyes, but keep your playful smile. It's cheesy, but sweet in its own way.

"I'm y/n. But you can call me beautiful if that's easier." You continue to make small talk and your flirting gets heavier and heavier. At one point he gently brushes your hair out of your face and puts it behind your ear. You try to hide the cringe you feel because that's something that Elvis does. You feel eyes on you and something makes you want to look over at him, but you don't. Your activities are none of his business tonight. You try to focus on James and the game you're currently playing with him. The conversation continues, but you can't shake the feeling of being watched. Just in case Elvis is actually paying attention, you play up your reactions, smiling widely and laughing loudly. Finally, James says something funny enough for you to genuinely laugh and put your hand on his arm gently.

That's when you feel Elvis's hand around you. His fingers curl around your bicep and he holds you hard enough that there might be a bruise in the morning.

"What the fuck?" You turn to Elvis and shoot him a fiery glare. His eyes are frighteningly dark, even behind his glasses, but he speaks coolly.

"I could ask you the same question."

James looks between the two of you and excuses himself. He's heard of Elvis's famous temper and doesn't want to find himself on the receiving end of a potentially-violent rant.

"Oh, James, don't go. He's not--"

"Keep walkin' away, guy." He listens to Elvis over you and backs away into the crowd. Elvis is still holding your upper arm and he turns you to face him.

"Girl, what are you tryin' to pull?" His words are playful, but his tone is scary. Still, you're no stranger to this mood.

"I don't see how what I do is any of your business."

"What the hell is that s'posed to mean?"

"You've made it very clear tonight that you have no interest in what I do." As you get louder, he gets quieter.

"Aw, hell, honey you know damn well that ain't true. You're mine. Everything you do interests me." He finally lets go of your arm. You rub the place where he was holding you gingerly. He might be thinking this fight is almost over, but you're just gearing up.

"You literally haven't spoken to me all night. And what? You just expect me to be waiting in your bed for you after you're done with whatever, or whoever, else you wanna do?" You gesture to the group of girls he was just flirting with. You're loud enough now that people have started to notice the two of you. His lips curl up into a wicked smile.

"Yes, honey, that's exactly what I expect." He says the endearment like a threat. You belong to him and when he calls you anything other than your name, he's reminding you of that fact. Now he's royally pissed you off and you can feel your rage bubbling just beneath the surface. The only thing keeping you in check are the witnesses.

"You're such a fucking hypocrite. You think you get to play around with whoever you want, but I can't even have a conversation with another man."

"Listen to me, girl, that was more than a conversation and you know it. Don't play dumb with me. I know you too damn well. Get your coat and go up to the room."

"YOU THINK AFTER HOW YOU'VE TREATED ME TONIGHT THAT I'M GOING TO GO UP TO YOUR ROOM AND WAIT FOR YOU LIKE A GOOD LITTLE GIRL?" He knew that telling you what to do would send you over the edge. His lip is still curled into a smile, but now his teeth are bared too. You stand and glare at each other for a few more seconds before he grabs your upper arm again and drags you through the crowd. You fight to get away from him, but his grip is too strong.

"LET ME GO YOU SONOFABITCH!" Everyone in the party watches the scene but says nothing. He's their king and they know it and he knows it. A bunch of fucking freeloading toadies. When he gets to the hallway outside the elevator, he lets your arm go and walks toward you until your back is pressed up against the wall. A tiny part of you flickers in fear, but you are not about to let him win. He puts his hand on the wall behind you and leans in close.

"When I say go, you fucking go. Do you understand me?"

"Fuck you, Elvis." His eyes widen ever so slightly, but he keeps his gaze intense. Then, out of nowhere, he softens a bit.

"Why do you do this shit to me, Little? You make me fucking crazy."

"I make you crazy?! YOU IGNORED ME ALL NIGHT!" He may have softened, but you're not ready to go down without a fight. You see the light of his anger reignite in his eyes.

"If you weren't so goddamn insecure--"

"I'm insecure?! You can't handle it when I talk to another man. God knows what you're doing with other women!" He slams his hand on the wall above your head.

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this! There are no other women. Sure, I talk and flirt and maybe mess around a little, but the only one I really want is you!" The last part catches you off guard a little bit. This is the first time he's really directly stated that he wants you more than anyone else.

"Why?! Why won't you just let me go?! Then we could both move on." You're very annoyed by the tears that are starting to gather in your eyes. You don't want to let him know he's getting to you this much.

"Dammit, I don't know!" He pulls his hand off the wall and walks away, running his hand through his hair and giving it an even wilder look. He slides his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Why don't you leave?" He asks quietly, putting his glasses back on and looking at you almost pleadingly.

"I... I can't."

"WHY NOT? I WANT TO KNOW WHY!" He yells at you now louder than he's been the whole time. He walks back to you and stands inches away from you, fuming. You glare up at him, defiant to your very core.

"BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU." It comes out of you before you're able to stop it.

He hits the wall again and walks away. Then, he turns back to face you, something new in his eyes.

"Well, I fucking love you too." You stand there, chest heaving and tears threatening to slide down your face.

He takes two large steps towards you and wraps his arms around your waist, crashing his mouth into yours, his tongue slipping between your parted lips. You snake your hands up his chest and around his neck, pressing your hips into his and returning his kiss. He pushes you up against the wall and grinds into you, hard. You feel his already-growing erection as he rolls his hips and you whimper softly. He smashes the elevator "up" button four or five times as hard as he can, never moving his mouth from yours. After a few seconds, you hear the ding and the elevator opens. Several people walk out and stop when they see the two of you wrapped around each other. When they realize who he is, they start to whisper. He pulls back from kissing you and yells at them.

"MOVE!" They jump out of the way and you half roll, half tumble into the elevator together, still tangled around each other. You hear them laugh as you press the "door close" button a hundred times, but you're too busy with Elvis to care. He obviously doesn't either as he runs both hands up your body while the doors close and grabs your breasts. He squeezes them like he's trying to keep them from getting away and then slides his hands back to your ass, pulling your hips into his. His dick is fully hard now and you moan with desire as he presses against you.

He moves his lips down your cheek, pressing them softly to the smooth space below your ear. Then, he begins to bite you gently on the sensitive skin of your neck. A shiver of pleasure runs down your spine. This elevator needs to move faster.

When he sucks on a place near your collar bone hard enough to leave a mark, you moan audibly. You need him. Now. And he knows it. He hits the "stop" button and the elevator grinds to a screeching halt. He reaches up under your dress and pulls your panties down, sliding them to your ankles and off over your shoes. Running his hands up your thighs, he comes back to your center, pressing his middle finger into your wetness.

"Mmm. I should yell at you more often." He moans into your mouth as he moves his finger in and out, noticing how wet you are.

"Or tell me that you love me more often." You moan right back at him. Your hands go directly to the buttons on his pants and he lets you free his dick from them. Before he can fuck you, though, you push him up against the elevator wall and get on your knees in front of him. He leans his head back as you lick a slow circle around his tip, rolling his foreskin back. You pump him a few times with your hand and then take as much of him into your mouth as you can handle. It takes a couple of tries and you opening your throat significantly to get his whole length in your mouth, your nose pressed into him. Your hands cup and play with his balls as you lick up and down the bottom of his shaft. You continue sliding your hand along his length as you lick and suck and top half of him.

"Baby I'm not gonna last much longer if you keep this up." You take him fully in your mouth one last time and then stand up in front of him. He grabs the back of your hair and presses himself against you as he kisses you deeply.

Now it's his turn to get on his knees as he pushes your dress up above your hips. He kisses the inside of each of your soft thighs and then places his mouth directly on the place between your legs. You feel yourself tighten around nothing as he licks over and around your sensitive spot. The feeling almost overwhelms you and you twist your fingers into his hair while he keeps working. You feel your orgasm building in your abdomen. He moans into you and the vibration almost sends you over the edge. He licks around you in circles and sucks lightly on your clit. When he adds his fingers in, pushing them deep inside you and sliding them in and out at a quickening pace, your climax comes even closer. He flattens his tongue and moves his head side to side, letting the sensation of his movement on you push you ever nearer to the edge. Finally, he tightens his tongue to a point and licks you with every intention of sending you over. The feeling of him swirling over and around you faster and faster drives you crazy. You feel the overwhelming rush of your release tingling through you from your head to your toes, both relaxing and contracting in waves of ecstatic pleasure. Elvis feels the excess wetness on his fingers and he smiles into you, knowing he's accomplished his goal. Suddenly, he stands back up and turns you to face the wall of the elevator. Pulling your dress up over your ass, he teases you with his tip and then enters you from behind. He starts slow, filling you up in a way that makes you cry out in pleasure. He holds your hips as he pushes into you faster and faster with more and more intensity.

"That's right, baby. Take it like a good girl."

"Yes, daddy" you get out between moans. He continues to run his hands up and down your front, squeezing your breasts every now and then, and moving his hands back to your hips. All the while, he's fucking you with all of his power, slamming into you over and over, deeper and deeper. His fingers dig into your hips and you pray there won't be obvious bruises in the morning. All of the previous rage that was inside both of you has turned to insatiable desire as he pounds into you and you cry out with each thrust.

"You're so tight and wet for me, doll. I love it so much. I love you so much." You should be shocked that he's saying it so casually, but you're too focused on being fucked silly to think much of it. Without any warning, he pulls out of you and turns you to face him, your back pressed against the elevator wall. He pushes back into you and goes back to fucking you with every ounce of his strength. But this time he's peppering you with kisses on your neck and collarbone and cheeks between thrusts.

"Ah, fuck, baby I'm close." He groans as he continues his steady and unforgiving rhythm.

"Don't stop." You mutter to him as he continues grinding his dick into you. Finally, his climax reverberates across his body.

"FUCK y/n. Yes, that's so... yes..." He shudders and does a few more weak pumps before he can't stand it anymore and he has to pull out. He has both hands on the elevator wall above your head and he presses his forehead into yours, breathing heavily. You feel his hot breath on you and you match his heaving chest with your own. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his earlobe.

"Do you really love me?" You whisper, not sure what to expect as an answer. It's entirely possible that he was just caught up in the moment and you'll go back to your part-time lover situation.

He pulls back and looks you in the eyes intensely.

"I really fucking do. Goddammit. I really do." He kisses you again passionately and then hangs his head. You can tell he's afraid of what your response might be too. For all his tough-guy exterior, all he really wants is someone to love.

"I love you, Elvis Presley." He looks up at you, searching your eyes for reassurance. "I really fucking do." He seems to find whatever he's looking for because he doesn't ask any more questions. He pulls you close to him and holds you for a second. Then he picks up your panties, helping you step back into them, and straightens your dress. He puts his dick back into his pants and zips them up. He pushes the elevator button to make it start up again and slings his arm around your shoulders, holding your right hand in his with your fingers interlocked. When the elevator doors finally open, no one would ever know what just happened between you. You walk out of the elevator and to your room with him still wrapped around your shoulders.

"You wear me out, girl." He whispers as he kisses the side of your head. Together, you walk into your suite and into your future. It won't be easy to be with him, since you're both still who you are, but there won't be anymore "off" times for the rest of your relationship. Fights? Yes. But you always find your way back into each others arms. You might burn each other up in the meantime, but at least you'll burn together.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist: (I'm tagging everyone who's ever asked me to tag them. If you want off the list, let me know and I'll remove you!)

@itlover8000 @deniseinmn @elvisalltheway101 @ccab @suxny @hernameisnoellex3 @ashtag6887 @arabellapresley @littlehoneyposts @dkayfixates @elvisxsposts @joshuntildawn13 @msamarican @returntopresley @mrsbutler99 @blog777e

[bicycleboyblog]

super curious about the inspirations behind the Senator and Mary, if you'd like to share

Dang I love this question. Well, once you see it, you'll never unsee. :)

The Senator was inspired by The Batter (OFF), Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing (Hellsing) and Mathis Quigley (Unsounded).

The inspiration from Hellsing is hard to ignore, but I was in love with Integra immediately. She was the first lady character I ever saw wearing men's clothes, with a macho, boxy silhouette, who was in charge of everything. Growing up I hardly made female characters because all the bullshit in life and in stories made me think they couldn't do anything. It's stupid lies and horseshit, but hell. People still think that way, hey? Where do you think they learn it from.

But yeah, a masculine, powerful woman who goes by "Sir"?

Sign me the fuck up.

Then there's The Batter (left); an unstoppable, stone-faced, murderous freak obsessed with purifying the world. His manifesto and off-putting personality directly inspired the Senator. Indeed, there's a line in Chapter 8 that references this. Quigs was mostly visual inspo. I love his platinum hair, razor sharp jaw, and fashionable glasses. :]

There's also probably a little something in there from Alucard (Hellsing, again), and the general horrors of living in a world controlled by detached wealthy assholes who will stop at nothing to destroy all meaningful human connection and control our lives.

Mary, on the other hand, was inspired by the art of my dear friend Dreorcaul. She has a plethora of powerful masculine lady OCs, but one in particular, the gargantuan General Zafim (below, center) of The Sunless Children, set my heart on fire. I thought, well. I want one, too!

Later down the line, I read Satoru Noda's insane 1800s war manga Golden Kamuy, and though I hate the guy, the sniper Ogata (right) made for a bone-chillingly creepy antagonist.

Lieutenant Tsurumi (left) was the biggest influence on Mary's character otherwise. His fiery passion, competence, brutality, and inappropriate closeness to his soldiers were all traits I gave her. I know you might think his scar is, too, but that has another story.

At work I met a middle aged woman with a delicate scar on her face. It was a faint, pale splash radiating out from her nose. I just, I thought she was so beautiful, and Mary was always meant to be hauntingly gorgeous. I guess she came to mind.

[skz-streamer]

A Lost Cause -1/3-

- Next->

Pairing: Felix (skz) x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, slight smut?

Warnings: mentions of suicide, scarred wrist, pain, car crash, PTSD, abusive/toxic boyfriend, substances, abuse, bruising, crying, um... lmk if I missed anything else❤️

Notes: ITS HAPPENING!!!!! Chap one!!!!! I'm so excited to finally let u guys in on this ficcc 😆. Chap 2 will be released July 9th... ill keep yall updated :) Had to use Deep End as inspo🥰

Summary: After an abusive relationship you head to the bar for refuge...only to find yourself in another relationship, but is this one "A Lost Cause"?

-please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people

Word count ~3k ;)

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You stumble into the dimly lit bar, the weight of your broken heart heavy upon your shoulders. It's been a long and painful journey, escaping the clutches of an abusive relationship. Determined to drown your sorrows tonight, you settle onto a barstool, desperately seeking solace in the bottom of a glass.

The bartender, a kind soul with gentle eyes, approaches you. "What can I get you?" he asks, his voice carrying a hint of genuine concern.

You force a smile, attempting to conceal the turmoil within. "Whiskey," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. He nods, recognizing the ache in your eyes, and pours a generous shot. The fiery liquid burns your throat as it cascades down, but it's a welcomed pain, numbing the emotional scars.

As the night wears on, the weight on your chest becomes unbearable. The alcohol has begun to unravel your defenses, and the pain spills out, refusing to be contained. In between sips, you find yourself speaking softly, as if hoping your words will dissolve into the air.

You recount the torment you endured—the words that cut like knives, the bruises that painted your skin, and the suffocating fear that held you captive. The bartender listens attentively, his eyes filled with compassion and understanding. He doesn't interrupt, allowing you to release the pent-up anguish that has consumed you for far too long.

The tears come unbidden, streaming down your face like a river of anguish. You feel exposed and vulnerable, but in the presence of this stranger, you find a strange solace. And as your voice trembles with pain, he reaches out a comforting hand, a silent reassurance that you're not alone.

You let yourself surrender, crying into the comforting fabric of his shirt. He holds you gently, offering the safety and warmth you've been denied for so long. It's a respite from the storm that has raged within you, a moment of solace amidst the chaos.

Eventually, your tears subside, leaving behind a fragile sense of relief. The bartender, still cradling you, whispers, "You're going to be okay. You're stronger than you know."

He guides you towards the door, summoning a cab to take you home. With trembling gratitude, you manage to express your heartfelt thanks. As the cab pulls away, you catch a final glimpse of the kind bartender, his eyes filled with empathy and a silent promise to protect you from the darkness. 

You slowly open your eyes, wincing as the morning sunlight streams through your window, intensifying the throbbing pain in your head. As you attempt to sit up, you're struck by a wave of dizziness, causing you to collapse back onto your bed. Memories from last night flood your mind in fragments, a chaotic jumble that refuses to form a coherent picture.

One memory remains vivid, though—a haunting scene that echoes in your mind's eye. Your abusive boyfriend, his voice laced with venom, severing the fraying threads of your relationship. The pain of his rejection stings your heart anew. That was the breaking point that led you to the bar, seeking solace in the bottom of a glass.

But amidst the haze of your drunken stupor, you recall a glimmer of warmth and kindness. The face of a cute bartender, his eyes filled with empathy as he listened to your slurred words. He offered you a safe space, a momentary reprieve from the torment that plagued your life. That memory gives you a flicker of hope, a beacon in the darkness.

With your body aching from both the emotional turmoil and the relentless hangover, you decide that today is not a day for work. You grab your phone and dial your boss's number, your voice is shaky as you apologize for your absence, blaming it on a sudden illness. They understand, giving you the day off to recuperate.

Now fully committed to nursing your fragile state, you make your way to the store to purchase some much-needed medication. The fluorescent lights and aisles filled with remedies overwhelm your sensitive senses, intensifying the pounding in your head. As you wander the aisles, searching for relief, you hear a voice—a deep, resonant voice that inexplicably soothes your weary soul.

Your heart skips a beat as you turn toward the source of the familiar voice. Standing there is a well-built man, his features etched with kindness. His eyes meet yours, and a strange sense of recognition washes over you. It's as if you've heard that voice before, offering comfort and understanding during your darkest hours.

Though hesitant, you find yourself drawn to him, compelled by the compassionate energy that radiates from his being.

You stand there, face to face with the man who seems oddly familiar, although your pounding headache and heavy hangover make it difficult to focus. He recognizes you from last night at the bar and greets you with a friendly hello, offering his assistance. Your throat feels dry, and you manage to mumble out a reply, grateful for his unexpected kindness.

His presence is a small relief as you navigate the store, desperately searching for the medications you need to alleviate the physical and emotional pain that seems to follow you relentlessly. He patiently helps you locate the items and hands them to you with a gentle smile. At that moment, he catches sight of the scars on your wrist, remnants of your battles with attempted suicide. His smile remains, trying his best not to make you uncomfortable, though you're oblivious to his concern.

As he leaves the store, his smile lingers, a glimmer of empathy and understanding in his eyes. You, lost in your thoughts, barely register his departure. Your mind is consumed by the familiarity he exudes, the feeling that you've encountered him somewhere before. Yet, the pounding in your head and the haze in your mind prevent you from making any meaningful connection.

You make your way to the counter, clutching the painkillers that offer a temporary escape from the torment. The cashier rings them up, their words blending in a blur. You complete the transaction mechanically, your focus still fixated on the man who offered a helping hand.

Exiting the store, you step into the sunlight, its harsh brightness intensifying the throbbing ache in your head. Walking towards your car, you lean against it for support, lost in a whirlwind of fragmented memories and unanswered questions. The man's presence lingers in your thoughts, tugging at the fringes of your consciousness.

Climbing into the car, you sit for a moment, the engine idling. Your mind races, trying to piece together the fragments, but they remain just out of reach.

You sit in your car, trying to shake off that peculiar feeling that's been lingering in the back of your mind. It's like that unsettling sensation you get when you know you're forgetting something important, but you just can't put your finger on it. The more you dwell on it, the more your headache intensifies. It pounds against your temples, demanding your attention.

Feeling desperate for relief, you reach into your bag and grab the bottle of painkillers you just bought from the store moments ago. With trembling hands, you open the bottle and pop a pill into your mouth. You swallow it down, hoping it will ease the pounding ache in your head.

Determined to distract yourself from these unsettling thoughts, you start your car and drive back to your apartment. The familiar surroundings bring a sense of comfort, but that nagging feeling still lingers in the depths of your mind.

Entering your apartment, you collapse onto the couch, seeking solace in your favorite K-drama. The vibrant colors and melodramatic plotline usually provide an escape from reality. You immerse yourself in the characters' lives, trying to forget about the unease that haunts you.

As the episodes play on, your eyelids grow heavy. Fatigue seeps into your bones, and despite your best efforts to stay awake, sleep overtakes you. The television continues to flicker in the background as you drift into a restless slumber, hoping that when you wake up, the strange feeling will have dissipated, and you'll find peace once again.

It’s morning now. You wake up to the sound of your TV blaring, the brightness of the screen piercing your sleepy eyes. A prompt flashes across the screen, "Still there?" You groan, rubbing your temples as you reach for the remote, desperately wanting to silence the noise. With a click, the TV shuts off. The throbbing headache that had plagued you yesterday dissipates. Finally, you can focus on the day ahead.

As you sit up from the couch you reach for your phone, intending to text your ex, (forgetting that he had broken up with you) inviting him to pick you up for breakfast. However, as you begin to type, the memories of your recent breakup flood your mind. It had only been a day since the painful conversation with your ex, but it feels like an eternity. The weight of that terrible conversation crashes down upon you once again. The hurtful words, the shattered dreams, and the realization that you're now single—it all hits you like a wave. Swallowing hard, you fight back the tears, determined not to let them fall.

Your reflection in the bathroom mirror reminds you of the bruises on your face, skillfully hidden beneath ruined makeup. You take a deep breath, attempting to gather strength. There's no time to wallow in self-pity; you have to keep moving forward. With steady hands, you wash your face, scrubbing away the remnants of the night before. As you apply fresh makeup, you're acutely aware of the fragile state of your emotions. You try not to let the tears well up again, fearing they will smudge the carefully crafted facade.

Bag in hand, you head out the door, ready to face another day at work. You work at a fried chicken place, which sounds fun on the surface, but in reality, it often means spending hours upon hours washing dishes. It's a monotonous and tiring job, one that you both hate and love at the same time. There's a certain solace in the routine, in the distraction it provides from the chaos of your personal life.

As you step outside, the world buzzes with activity, seemingly unaware of the storm within you. You put on a brave face, determined not to let anyone see your pain. With each step toward your car, you take a deep breath, reminding yourself that you can make it through this day, just like you've made it through countless others.

You grip the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles turning white as you navigate the familiar streets on your way to work. The radio plays a cheerful tune, but it does little to lift your heavy heart. The weight of sadness settles upon you, threatening to consume your thoughts.

Blinking away the tears forming in your eyes, you try to focus on the road ahead. This is a new beginning, a fresh chapter in your life. Reminding yourself of the toxicity and abuse that your ex-boyfriend subjected you to, you know deep down that leaving him was the right decision. He didn't truly love you, despite the pain it brings to acknowledge that fact.

But instead of finding solace in your newfound freedom, the realization only amplifies your emotions. The tears blur your vision, making it difficult to see the path ahead clearly. And in that moment, as sadness engulfs you, disaster strikes.

With a jolt, you run over a cone on the road, and time seems to slow down. Panic floods your veins as you lose control of the car, swerving dangerously into the neighboring lanes. The sickening sound of metal colliding with metal fills the air as you crash into a nearby truck.

In that instant, everything freezes. It's not the physical pain that holds you captive, but rather the rush of emotions flooding back into your mind. The sharp agony in your chest reminds you of the scars left by your ex's abuse. The haunting memories of his hits and torment resurface, intensifying the pain you feel now.

Darkness creeps in, threatening to engulf your consciousness. Amidst the chaos, a symphony of horns suddenly adds to your already brewing pain. As you lay there, eyes tightly shut, a soft voice breaks through, gentle and soothing like a beam of sunlight. It stirs something deep within you, a flicker of hope.

Yet, the warmth that spreads through your chest only serves to magnify the pain. It's a bittersweet sensation, a cruel reminder of the wounds both physical and emotional. Your body remains still, unable to summon the courage to open your eyes, fearing what you might find.

Strong hands lift you, cradling your fragile form. Though your sight remains shrouded in darkness, you sense that you're now lying on a soft, cushioned surface—the comfort of a stretcher. Unaware of the commotion surrounding you, you cling to the safety of keeping your eyes closed.

Amidst the cacophony, a familiar voice breaks through the chaos, shouting, "I'll go with her!" The words resonate with you, a glimmer of recognition dancing at the edges of your consciousness. But the pain and confusion muffle your ability to discern who it is.

As you're carried away, the soft voice and the fuzzy feeling in your chest remain, contrasting sharply against the agonizing ache. Uncertain of what lies ahead, your mind remains clouded with fear and uncertainty.

You wake up in the hospital after your car accident, and as you open your eyes, you find yourself in an empty room. But right now, all you want to do is cry. The emotions that you've been bottling up, especially when thinking about your ex, have become too overwhelming. Finally, you let it all go, and tears stream down your face uncontrollably.

Suddenly, the door opens, but you don't hear it amidst the loud ringing in your ear and your wails. Startled, you flinch as you hadn't realized someone had walked in. You try to wipe your tears away, but they keep flowing relentlessly. A warm hand begins to rub your back, and you hear his voice, that sweet and soft voice from earlier. He wraps you in a hug, providing comfort, and unintentionally, you cry into his shirt.

At that moment, memories flood back. You remember him—the same guy who comforted you at the bar. The bartender. But how did he end up here? You lift your face from his shirt, completely bare-faced, your bruises and scars exposed. You try to cover your face but he quickly grabs your hands and places them on your lap. Curiosity consumes you, and you ask him how he's here. He explains that he was on the road and witnessed the crash. Concerned, he pulled over to check on the people involved. Recognizing you, he came into the hospital room to comfort you once again. Warmth and familiarity wash over you as you hear his name—Felix. What a sweet name, you think to yourself.

Felix gently takes hold of your wrist, and you flinch hard in response. Worried, Felix asks if he hurt you, but you quickly reassure him that he didn't, concealing your wrist under the blanket. It suddenly dawns on him that when he met you in the store, he saw the scars on your wrist—the remnants of your previous suicide attempts. This time, when Felix grabs your wrist again, it's with a softer and more caring touch. You no longer flinch; instead, you feel butterflies in your stomach. He's about to say something when you both hear a locking sound on the door. Assuming it's the doctor, you and Felix say, "Come in," in unison.

To your surprise, it's not the doctor who enters—it's your ex. Confusion fills Felix's eyes as he gazes at your bruised and puffy (from crying) face. Felix contemplates leaving the room, but you grab his wrist, signaling him to stay. Your ex approaches your side, and now there are two guys on either side of you. You flinch slightly as your ex holds your shoulder, trying to hide it from him. But Felix notices, even though he doesn't want to intrude on your personal affairs. He can tell that you're uncomfortable.

You hold back tears as you push down the memories of abuse from your ex. His nails dig into your shoulder as he scolds you, blaming you for not listening to him and claiming he always knew something like this would happen. He hurls insults at you, calling you a bitch. This is Felix's breaking point. He stands up abruptly, and confusion and fear reflect in your eyes as you look at him. With a sense of urgency, Felix states that you need rest and politely asks your ex to leave the room.

Your ex stands up, his anger boiling over, and he screams, asserting that you are his girlfriend and he can do whatever he wants with you. He questions who Felix is, and it dawns on Felix that this is your ex, the very person responsible for your fragile state and previous suicide attempts. Felix reaches his limit, and his anger rises to the surface. Just as Felix is about to shout, you place your hand on his leg, signaling to your ex that you will talk later. Somehow, your ex understands and mutters curses under his breath before slamming the door shut.

You burst into tears once again, feeling completely vulnerable in the presence of Felix's soft gaze. His sweet face beams at you, although he is suppressing his anger. Soon, the doctor walks into the room, interrupting the emotional turmoil.

Permanent tag list: @eee5533 @mixtape-racha @ot8skz-wifey

lmk if u wanna be added to the tag list ❤️❤️❤️❤️

oooo... What happens after the visittttt (do they get closer...further?) what happens with y/n's ex?

[perfectplac3s]

Chat why is guy fieri actual outfit inspo

[rejaytionships]

was inspired by @mango-mya's s/i inspo board challenge and thought i'd give it a try! some of these are more influential than others but i'll still explain myself for each one ^^ i'll also include small tidbits that didn't make the image since they were moreso concepts and not characters

[reminder that kel uses she/her and he/him pronouns!]

---

appearance!

sintas vel: zeltrons tend to dress in darker clothes that are a serve, and sintas's look always felt like a look to me. i liked the idea of a darker crop top and jeans, and so i mentally kept it in the back of my head when thinking of outfit ideas

guy fieri: i needed something to contrast the otherwise sleek and somewhat spicy way that zeltrons tend to dress, and i also wear a a few flashy button-ups irl on fancy days, so guy fieri ended up on the inspo board for kel's outfit (and also he made me want to add shades). plus i'm built like him so that's a bonus

other inspo: for the outfit, i would google hot dark outfit pieces, specifically with leather or stuff like buckles and straps around the body. i actually have a screenshot of the shirt i modified for kel

backstory / lore!

cere junda: in jedi fallen order, cere had given up the force after her padawan turned to the dark side due to the torture of the inquisitioners. her severing her tie to the force was driven by guilt and grief. i modified it a bit for kelesgan, who was a jedi youngling that never had a chance to be given a master before order 66 happened. he ended up being taken in by maul, who trained him in the dark side of the force. however, kel's guilt after learning maul's true motives (and realizing she was totally duped into being a sith) is what caused kel to run off and swear off using the force unless absolutely necessary for survival. i had a lot of enjoyment in the idea of a force user who struggles with that side of themself. it's a nice trope i wish we saw more :)

cikatro vizago: this one's a bit more straight-forward. vizago was a smuggler that sometimes gave help to the rebels, and then by the end of the series actively assisted the rebellion in liberating lothal. kelesgan was also a smuggler (funny enough, she worked with vizago and they even dated at some point) that joined the rebellion when attaching to the ghost crew like a tick

other inspo: i really really wanted a grey jedi type sona. that's it. that's the bullet point

personality / vibe!

lando calrissian: he's charming, he's a scoundrel, and he's very much what kelesgan is like (which is funny given these two also have a dating history, albeit brief). he lived for a while only joining fights when he saw "an angle", but then eventually had a change of heart and decided to join the fight against the empire independent of his own personal benefit. he is also a smooth-talking negotiator. i apply basically all of this to how i view kelesgan. she thinks she's the shit, and to an extent she kind of is the shit. kel has a charm in the way he holds himself, but he also had mixed reviews from those who knew him. (i also really like lando as a character. king)

dippy fresh: i am so sorry.......is what i would say if i was a BITCH! so anyways dippy fresh was mabel's way of viewing dipper in a version that was the Cooler Edition of dipper. and in a sense, kelesgan carries himself like he's All That and even comes off to ezra as the Cooler jedi master sometimes when kel eventually comes forward about his connection to the force. this causes major beef between kanan and kel before the two end up in a polycule with hera

other inspo: on the note of the last bullet point, part of me wanted to make a character that could be kind of like kanan but if he was very much the Cool Dad and not so much the Responsible Dad. i wanted kanan and kel to have beef of kanan initially wondering if he magically got replaced overnight by some big flashy pink loser. and then they kiss but that's not important rn

i'm sure there's stuff i'm forgetting but this is the general gist!

[pickleslice]

tabby boomboom needs the guy fieri flame shirt. hes her fashion inspo

[aredhelevaltieri]

Betrayal | A Filthy Thorn Lined Love Story 

Nivathostin gently swirled his drink around after taking the first sip. He gazed into the whiskey as if it held the words he was seeking, but the depth of the glass wasn’t deep enough to reveal any answers to him. Instead, he was left with shallow feelings that he dreaded to dwell upon.

“I often wonder what you would do if I treated others the way that you treat them. Acting as if everyone should look upon me as some sort of god -- a god who could hold a wife in one arm and a nameless lover in the other while not a single person batted an eye. A god who demanded that everyone bow before me and kiss me in the streets.” He quirked a brow at Aredhele, and his gaze was so demanding yet horribly calm in contrast.

“Would you like that? Perhaps I should walk around with my foot around others’ throats from now on.” (written by Niva’s player, followed by my writing below)

Ared had a sudden twist of emotion and she dumps her drink on the floor. The liquor splattered all over her gown and it sopped up some of its fight as it made its way to soak into the floorboards. Turning the glass upside down, she sets it on the nightstand where her gold bangles and rings accidentally flew to the floor.

“Suddenly I am not thirsty.” Closing her eyes, she couldn’t conceal the fact that his words hurt. They gutted her. Instantly she felt sick and when she opens her eyes, she stared at the ceiling.

“This was the life I was given. Whoever wants to play a god is a fool. I can tell you, it is much harder than it looks. Niva, I am sorry I love you, and my greed knows no bounds.”

Niva had every right to be angry. He usually always did. Regardless of the love they shared, it was a love born of deception and she was familiar with this unforgivable betrayal.

Vynlorin taught her a decade ago that prayer is the sweetest consolation to wicked scoundrels that abuse the sanctity of union. After every depraved night they spent together, she reawakened with promise renewed. Every morning she swore she will never engage in debauchery during the wanton hours with that man again. Hours later, she erased her guilt from memory and went back to his chamber where he abused her in every conceivable way. He rutted her to extreme degrees and offended every orifice.  In dark corridors, Ared worshipped Vyn undisturbed in the imposing silence of the night, where so many years before, she only adored him from afar.

It was not her fault that nature reduced her to the level of wild beasts. If only he didn’t offer her smothering pleasure in abundance. But, he did, and she lowered herself to the title of a liar and sneak. She reduced herself to being the scum of the earth, lying again and again basked in the filth of her rotted perversions.

No amount of shame or rumor stopped them. The ceremony constantly repeated, sparing no effort as they rekindled their desires in this damning affair with every daunting careless thrust. Oh how she adored his sweet kisses when he defiled and fondled her in the bedchamber of her betrothed. And in return for his love, she promised him she would never leave and she truly meant every word that she said, until she left. Unbeknown to him, she took with her the gift of life, and killed it much the same when she left for the Void and the twisted abyss destroyed his heir.

Life offers so many thorned lined choices to innocent creatures. That is how a man can become so cruel to disturb every oath to his longest friend and lord. That is how a man could love a married woman, and steal her from other lover’s arms.

“I’m as selfish as you are,” Niva muttered as his elbow found the footboard to support him while his hand curled tighter around the back of her neck.

“No, you could never be more selfish than me.”

[helahades]

PETER P. + PILLOW HUMPING

CONTENT: 18+. gender neutral reader. Peter is 20. desperate. pillow humping. sexually frustrated, fantasizing, hella horny peter. lusty boy stupidity. peter with a crush.

NOTES: inspo from this gifset. here’s an audio of peter moaning, and heres a porn rec of a guy thats vaguely like him in my opinion xoxo

WORD COUNT: ~1.4k

—

After a day with you (his favorite trainer)  has thoroughly kicked his ass, Peter is many things, but most of all, he's worked up. He needs his brain scrubbed clean of your encouragement and light laughter. Your fiery eyes raking over him, your soft taunts still ripple over his skin in waves. As it has been since the arrival of his powers, his physical condition is quite...changeable. Reactive. It’s most obvious on days like today, when his physical responses are heightened, and every hint of you gets him overexcited.

Today, he was taken down. A hot blooded, magic-infused unstoppable superhero boy was stopped by the skillful strikes and energy redirection of a knowing—and very human trainer, and hours later, he's still hot about it. As he arrives back to his room in the tower, he peels off a shirt thick with your scent, and jumps directly into a burning shower that is a welcome balm to his fiery heart.

Muscles flex as he scrubs at sweat, at hairs that stand on end, and nerves that make him aware of each droplet impact that clings and falls. Dialed to 11, he once said of his senses, and he regards that fact with an exasperated sigh as one hand pushes suds through his hair...the other down to squeeze his cock, half hard and ignored for hours. 

It was just training. He tries to keep his thoughts innocent. Tries to reason he’s just rubbing himself clean despite slowly fucking a loose fist, and images of you in your dry fit tank and workout pants only flash by because he is processing the day. Remembering...that move...to be prepared for the next time...your thighs around him...

He opens eyes he doesn't remember closing as his hips jerk into his fisted hand, clasping the free hand over his mouth when he cries out. The soft white lights of his bathroom seem to glow like the sky and just as he considers them, they fade to a pale clementine… as programmed by Mr. Stark to indicate that he has been using up hot water for far too long. 

In the next moment, he taps the water control off and is surrounded by steam and silence as he towels off under the glow of the room, watching it lighten to normal. Once in his bedroom, he inhales lungfuls of cool air, groans soft as he squeezes his cock through the towel around his waist. Bouncing where he stands, he finds himself again in the moment when he’d hit the floor, trapped by the heat where your thighs spread over him.

C’mon. Don’t be a creep, Peter

…And yet, his temperature climbs again as images of sweaty skin push around in his mind… he thinks about being pinned down on a mat in the gym where the fans turn icy air over warm bodies. He thinks about pushing his pants down right under his ass in all the excitement, just enough to let himself out so you could ride him--use him from the top.

Some lotion and a lounge outfit later, a pressure deep down makes it harder to deny his lust… he lasts about fifteen seconds into a Rubik’s cube--an attempted distraction--before flinging himself into bed, pushing a large hand under his pants to grip himself where he's desperate. He thinks about the smell of your skin, the way it turns sweeter when you start sweating...the way he wants to witness that flip of your pheromones in bed, where there would be no interruptions from the input of other smells or racking clang of weights.

No...only your grunts, whimpers as you push yourself down on his length, hands all over. He imagines you on top, using him to get off, riding hard, leaving him breathless. One of his own hands is tight around his cock while the other rubs over his skin...chest, stomach, down to his balls. Pumping himself hard, he feels good. It’s so good. It’s...not enough. 

The pleasure churning within him is low burning, but nothing is quite enough to get him right to the edge, or match the intensity of the energy that has his legs near shaking, needing to be released. Flashes of your heaving chest, huffed out breaths...

He tries porn. He ignores the fact that he finds some sort of sexual wrestling, and ends up on some role play of a yoga teacher getting fucked...or that he finds himself annoyed that the instructor does not look similar enough to you for him to pretend it's satisfying. Phone in hand, the high and sharp sounds of fake pleasure and skin slapping ring in his brain--it’s all repetitive and none of it is enough.

Tossing his phone to the side, he pulls his pants back up, rolls face down, ends up squeezing the pillow there between his thighs. The light pressure seems to corral small bursts within him, at the base of his cock, and pull it into something broader--a pleasure that wraps around his lower half. It's… new. Shifting languidly into a lazy plank, his arms support his upper half while he pulls the pillow further between muscular thighs and rucks the weight of him right up against it through his hips.

In the deep parts of him, he feels the pleasure of his past efforts, feels his cock full and hard and hot under soft fabric. Shifting his hips back to a better angle on the fluffed mound, the thickness of the sweats run silky over where the boxers have stretched to  the form of his hard length and he gasps at the sudden sensitivity, hips bucking in an instinctive response. 

He continues these curved strokes, panting as the drags catch onto each possible angle, pressure pushing onto him just right. He’s seeing stars, it's never been like this before. Heart in his throat as he shivers with the pleasure, he adjusts his angle slightly, flinching in reaction to the pressure on his sensitive head.

His brain is already hazy, lulling lazy as a cloud, yet flashing quick in high color images of you. From where he holds himself up, hips curving in full strokes, he imagines you under him, the sound of his hips smacking your ass as he gives it to you just the way you need. He remembers you musing to a friend about a hookup, eyes light in recollection of how they’d taken you rough. He could be the same. He could do you better. 

Smoothing deliciously over the underside of his shaft, the pillow begins to sink shapeless under the quick rhythm he sets with the force of his hips, and large hands splay over it, pulling it into him, reactivating the mind blurring friction. He is practically fucking it, holding it down tight, and he imagines handfuls of you… imagines squeezing the flesh of your ass before slapping it. Hard. 

You would squeal an innocent little thing. You are far from inexperienced. In fact, he has never seen you anything but sure. Sure of where to strike, sure of what to say, you are well versed and never caught off guard. He just wants to be the one to surprise you, just once.

Wants to make you feel good. Wants you to make him feel...whatever that was before. When the head of his cock drags with a smooth friction, his hips stutter at the thought of your pretty lips rounding the shape of breathy moans and high praises. Your hands on him, playing with the holes in his foresight and his back hitting the mat. The thick squeeze of your strong thighs around him. 

Your lips. Your pretty, pretty lips. He thinks about them sealing a bruise on his collar, hot and hard, and that does him in. A couple drags backward, and his whole body is warm, desperate grunts fading into moans that sound something like your name. His hips begin to stutter as he whimpers, built up heat rushing through him, but he squeezes the pillow with his thighs one last time before pulling it back under him with the thick muscles.

Body exhausted and overstimulated with new pleasures and pressures, he only lasts a few more strokes before he falls into the mattress, practically shaking with his eyes squeezed shut as his hips move on their own before his release shoots out of him, making a mess in his pants, also slightly smeared on his stomach where the tip peaks out of his waistband. His face flushes even more--if possible, as he realizes he has never cum so hard… or so much in his life. 

Just then he gets a text.

Hottest Avenger: Hey! You did so well today. Hope training didn’t take too much out of you!

You have no idea. 

—

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reblogs appreciated!

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tags: @cocoamoonmalfoy @limenlimon @cherienymphe @fvckingavengers

[onsunnyside]

hehe I’m editing the new part of captain’s legacy now !! Since I wrote more bc of some spicy inspo, expect it in an hour or more-ish !! Here’s another snippet🌚

Steve raises his eyebrows in amusement, he licks his lips. “You’re so blissfully ignorant, aren’t you? You may think I’m the worst that can happen to you, but I can assure you that I’m not.” Steve’s azure eyes pin you down, searing into your mind, “There are plenty of other people who aren’t as kind as me.”

“Kind?” You shove his hand, and step backwards. “That’s bullshit.”

“Compared to what they’d do to you—I’m an angel.”

“Although, next to Ari, that guy could be a saint.”

Natasha wasn’t wrong.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” He takes you away from Wanda, dresses you up like a doll and practically forces you into the Arcadia house yet again.

He grabs you, and your weak pushes are useless so you start swatting his chest, landing harder blows until one of your palms collides with his cheek. It wasn’t full force, but it was enough for his head to turn slightly, and his shoulders go rigid.

The music is still playing and vibrating the floor, but the air goes still, stale and awfully cold.

Bucky, Sam and everyone else stares at you and Steve, their bewildered expressions visible in the dimmed lights and with bottles and solo cups in hand and conversations paused as they’ve just witnessed a crime.

Might as well be one with the despair solidifying in your veins, freezing you where you stand. Worst of all, your hand tingles with either guilt or fiery pride, you can’t tell the difference with your thoughts firing like canons.

What did you do?

Why did you do that?

You’re fucking screwed.

While you attempt to silence the guilty pleas in your head, and Steve calmly smooths down his shirt, the wrinkles disappearing with a simple stroke of his hand. Then, his gaze meets yours. The colour is darker than normal, but eriely soothing, like a storm brewing in the ocean and you’re standing in the eye of it.

“Upstairs. Now.”

He wasn’t using his alpha voice, yet you feel the instinctual need to obey, although your feet are cemented to the floorboards.

“Don’t make me repeat myself—” He’s not quiet or loud, his volume is in between and slow like honey. “—again.”

You turn around, wrapping your arms around yourself.

As soon as you reach the stairs, the first wave of tears falls.

[songbirdstyles]

rock you (like a hurricane)

summary: you hate harry and he hates you. the two of you decide to channel it into something good.

warnings: hate-fucking, choking, dirty talking, breathplay

word count: 2.3k

song inspo.: rock you like a hurricane - scorpions

His hand around your throat is brutal - nearly violent, to be truthful - and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

Your vision clouds as Harry’s grasp tightens and for a moment you wonder if he’ll go all the way, make you pass out and collapse into his arms like a damsel in distress and you’re not sure you’d hate it - you hate the way his thigh is pressed between your legs even more, his free hand gripping your hips and forcing them to rock over his jean covered skin, panties all but soaked with the arousal he’s mustered up.

You should be embarrassed. God, don’t you hate him? You hate that he’s so cocky, that he thinks he’s always right, that he can’t stand ever letting you have the spotlight. It’s always about him and you want to reach up and smack that smug smirk across his face as he grins down at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of hatred and straight fiery lust and you’re sure the combination is reflected in your face. Yes, you hate him more than you’ve hated anyone else but you can’t stop the moan from forcing its way from your throat as his grip loosens for just a second, allowing you to suck in one deep breath of air before his hand closes again, and you drop your hands from clutching his biceps to the button and zipper on his jeans.

“God, you’re impatient,” Harry murmurs, eyes flitting down to where you’re shakily unzipping his pants, a task made even more difficult by the way he positively refuses to stop rocking his thigh into your cunt and you add the incessant teasing motion to your growing list of reasons you should spit in his face. You drop your head back against the wall he has you pressed up against as his head drops to suckle a hickey into your neck, and his next words are muffled against your skin. “Gonna cream y’pants jus’ from grindin’ against m’thigh, are you?”

Your chest heaves as you reach down, grabbing the waistband of his pants and boxers and tugging them down his hips and you relish in the soft hiss he releases into your neck - “Fuck you,” you breathe, wrapping your fist around his cock and squeezing hard enough to hear him yelp into your neck before beginning to pump him up and down, hips still jerking against his thigh. “I hate you -”

“Yeah, I’ll fuck you -”

It’s such a cliche rebuttal that you could nearly laugh but then Harry drops his leg from between your thighs and you stumble forward into him - barely a moment goes by before he pushes you fully up against the wall, hand on your neck sliding to your thigh and forcing your leg up around his hip. It’s a position you’d have taken anyway but you hate him bossing you around and if you had any more willpower you’d thrust your leg back down, but then he’s pulling your skirt up around your waist and hooking your panties to the side and - well - it’s not in you to care too much.

Your breath hitches in your throat as Harry’s finger dips through your soaked folds, collecting the moisture on the tip of his finger before focusing it on your clit. His digit swirls over the sensitive nub and your hips buck into his hand - you can practically feel his smirk before you glance back at him and confirm it for yourself. “S’all for me?” he questions, voice high pitched and mocking and you squeeze your eyes shut, pussy fucking throbbing for him and why does he have to be such an asshole all the fucking time -

You’ve never hated anyone more than him, and yet you’ve never wanted someone to fuck your brains out more than him, either.

“Gonna have t’tell me what y’want,” he tells you, finger pressing harder on your clit and you clench around absolutely nothing, a whine forcing its way from your throat into the thick air of your hotel room. “Want me t’finger you ‘till y’cum?”

“No,” you refuse, swiping your thumb along the slit of his dick and you can hear the way he tries to suppress his moan but he doesn’t try hard enough - “No, Harry, please.”

“What d’you want?”

“Harry -”

“Tell me.”

It’s humiliating and you can tell he gets off on it, watching you squirm under his gaze and you can’t meet his eyes as you moan, “Fuck me, please!”

It’s embarrassment coursing through your body at his chuckle, practically overflowing with cockiness and overconfidence and you wish you weren’t so fucking needy for him. Wish you could knock him down a peg, try your hardest to look unsatisfied after, but simply judging from the way he thrusts into you - hard and forceful, hand pulling your leg further up his waist to push himself deeper inside of you - you know that you’re nowhere near that decent of an actress.

The pair of you moan in unison, his raspier and deeper and yours mixed with a strangled sob as your cunt pulses with need, his fingers briefly halting their movements on your clit but you don’t quite need the extra stimulation - you’ve been with plenty of guys before, had all shapes and sizes inside of you and holy shit it’s never felt this good - and as he pulls out and thrusts back in, hitting spots you never even knew existed you toss your head back, a needy cry falling from your throat once more.

He doesn’t bother taking it slow - there’s no easy beginning so you can get used to his size, slow thrusts picking up into rapid slaps of skin against skin, and instead he pulls out and slams back into you with the force of a thousand suns, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world about whether you need a second to adjust. And you’d rather throw yourself out of the seventh story window than admit to him he’s the biggest guy you’ve been with so you take the brief moment of discomfort and - well - it doesn’t really matter, anyway, as it develops into a pleasure so overwhelming you can nearly taste it on your tongue and you clench around his cock, swallowing the cry in your throat.

“Fuck -” Harry groans, head dropping into your neck again and instead of feeling his lips on your skin it’s his teeth, nibbling at the column of your throat and you tilt your head to the side, giving him easier access, “ - such a tight fuckin’ hole f’me, aren’t you?”

“I - I fucking hate you -” you mutter through gritted teeth, moan bubbling in the back of your throat but you force it back. You hate giving him the satisfaction of knowing how fucking good he’s making you feel but you’re sure he can tell anyway - it isn’t as though you dripping onto his cock is too easy to hide.

“Moan f’me,” he tells you, lifting his head up so his eyes can meet your glare and one particular slap of his hips into yours has your mouth dropping open in a desperate moan and the hardened facade you’d been trying to maintain falls away as easy as it had appeared. “Yeah, tha’s good. Want everyone in this fuckin’ hotel to know how hard you’re gettin’ fucked.”

Shut up, you want to tell him but you can’t muster up the words to do it - do you like hearing him talk like that to you? It’s starting to seem like it and maybe you should be embarrassed but no, you really like it. Instead you raise your arms to wrap around his wrist where his fingers are still pressed to your clit and his eyes move up to meet yours. “Choke me, Harry, please.”

God, he looks like a little kid on Christmas at the words - though you’ve never seen a little kid look quite so arrogant - and you hardly needed to finish the request before his hand raises to your throat, fingers wrapping around your neck as yours loosen around his wrist. It’s what you craved, feeling his palm around your throat restricting your airflow in a way that’s so fucking spectacular you see stars, and it’s just about worth the mocking in Harry’s voice. “This is what y’needed, hmm? Needed me to choke you - like a little slut, hmm?” And when you don’t respond immediately his grip loosens and you groan.

You nod vehemently and Harry’s grasp tightens to the point it was at before, grip on your neck holding your head to the wall as his hips pick up their pace slamming into your cunt with no mercy, as if you’re merely a hole for him to fuck and not a person but surely the way your veins jump against his hand is proof enough that you’re real. 

There’s no holding back from then on, cries and gasps and moans filling the thick air of the hotel room but the sound of skin hitting skin overpowers it all - there’s a soft ringing in your ears whenever Harry tightens his grip just so and it’s like music to your fucking ears - feeling like you’re about to pass out had never felt so fucking good but he makes it so good. Always loosens up just before you reach that point (and you suppose you should be grateful for that but you can’t bring yourself to be) and you have to shut your eyes so you don’t see that fucking smirk as you heave for air.

“M’gonna cum,” he hisses, hiking your leg further up his waist when it begins to slide down - the burn in your muscles only adds to your heightening pleasure. “Want me t’fill y’up, hmm, like the whore you are? Yeah, tha’s wha’ I thought.”

Your shaking hand slides down your stomach to toy with your clit, pinching the sensitive nub and your body jerks into his, hips pressing forward in a way that pushes him deeper inside of you and you’re so close - all you need is one final push and you know you’ll be there, quivering beneath him like a fucking dumbass and scavaging for whatever remains of your dignity after having your brains fucked out by the man you hate most in the world and you don’t look forward to the aftermath but God, feeling him fill you up over and over is worth whatever happens after, isn’t it?

His grip loosens just as your vision starts to go hazy and you gasp in a breath before tightening your grip on his wrist, keeping his hand from returning to your throat briefly and you can sense his confusion. His eyes narrow down into yours as his hips pick up speed and you’ve never hooked up with him before but you’ve been with enough guys to know he’s almost there - so close it’s overwhelming, the urge to release like an instinct - so you shakily steady your breathing, throat already beginning to feel sore from the intensity of the noises you’d been producing before breathing, “Fucking - fucking cum in me, Harry. I want you to.”

You can tell it’s the confirmation he needed and he doesn’t respond, merely shakes off your grip on his wrist and slams down on your throat again as he buries himself inside of you to the hilt. Bottoms out fully, your bodies so close you can feel his heartbeat through his shirt and that’s when you cum, orgasm washing through you like a tidal wave intent on destruction and that’s exactly what it gets - it’s euphoria running through your veins, legs shaking and eyes blurring and you could nearly collapse into him but Harry’s holding you up - both by his hand on your throat and the one grasping your leg. Then he cums, hot ribbons of cum spurting deep inside of you and it only prolongs your orgasm, hearing him gasp and groan like you’ve never heard him before.

You feel high as a goddamn kite when Harry pulls out of you. It’s a feeling of emptiness that you despise, cunt pulsing on its own as he takes a step away from you and you nearly fall to the ground trying to take a step - he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t seem to particularly care, and that’s fine. You’re, truthfully, perfectly content with having him get the hell out of your room and not having to see him again until morning, especially when he turns back around to watch you stumble your way over to your bed, skirt still hiked high up on your hips and exposing your lower body to him.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter when you finally seat yourself on the edge of the bed, attempting to discreetly perch yourself so it doesn’t hurt - you’ve never been railed quite this hard and you’ve never experienced the aftermath of having it ache, just a tad, to sit - but you can tell by the way Harry’s eyes flit towards you, brows raising just a tad as he pulls up his boxers and jeans that he noticed the motion. And that makes you angry all over again, reminds you of exactly why you hated him enough to let him screw your brains out, and you collapse onto your back with a dramatic sigh. “You know, I’ve had better sex.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Harry tells you, and you can’t help the smile from pulling your lips upwards as you hear the door to your room open and shut in quick succession.